


Too Spooky

by vivaciousWordsmith



Series: Something Spooky This Way Comes [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Gen, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by Art, Inspired by Fanart, spooky scary au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 161,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2433917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivaciousWordsmith/pseuds/vivaciousWordsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After dying in mysterious circumstances, Michael is revived with no memory of his previous life. His search leads him down the path of darkness and monsters, where things do go bump in the night. And he’s one of them.</p>
<p>Inspired by the Achievement Hunter Spooky Scary AU by padalickingood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jonesing for Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael wakes up with no memory of...anything, really. What the hell happened to him?

When he first woke up, he was in darkness. The air was stiflingly hot and arid: the simple act of breathing hurt like hell. He was lying on his back, and judging by the moisture beading on his lips and nose, the ceiling was barely six inches away from his face. Smooth silk caressed his fingers, and when he reached out to feel for a light source, he found a wall only an inch away from his body. _‘It’s a coffin,’_ he thought, _‘I’m in a coffin.’_ Heart thumping wildly, he began pounding on the ceiling, or rather, the lid of the coffin. His head was already swimming, and he was afraid that he would expire before he could escape. Desperate hands managed to punch a hole in the lid, and for a second he wondered if he was free. Soil spilled down into the gap he’d made, first in a trickle and then in a tidal wave which tore the coffin wide open. He clawed his way up through the loosely packed dirt, digging his way toward freedom. With a colossal effort he forced himself to breach the ground’s surface; the sudden rush of sweet air almost made him faint. He spat out clods of dirt and pulled himself up onto solid ground.

The young man pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his clothes. He was dressed in a crisp and now ruined black suit: a funeral suit. Had he really died, then? When had that happened? He squinted around, trying to cast his mind back. He remembered darkness and waking in fear, but that was it. Of his previous life or the circumstances under which he’d died, he remembered nothing. His roving eye, while not finding all the answers, instead found the simple granite gravestone marking the casket from which he’d escaped. It read:

_In Loving Memory of Michael Vincent Jones. He Left This Earth Too Soon. Rest In Peace. Born July 24, 1987. Died September 30, 2014, aged 27._

The name brought back some of the memories he desperately sought: a life in New Jersey, a kickass show called Rage Quit, a long night at the bar, a quiet walk back home…and that was it. _‘What the hell happened to me? How did I die? I wasn't sick and I don’t think I was clumsy enough to get in a fucking accident…was I killed? Did I have a fucking heart attack? Did meteors fall from the sky and hit me? What the shit happened?’_ He began pacing in front of his grave, fuming quietly to himself. 

Another thought came to him as he paced before his tombstone: this was no video game. By all rights, he should still be slumbering in his grave, not standing out in the open air, heart beating and head thinking. Why was he alive again? Michael began to look around, trying to find something that could give him a clue. He was in a graveyard, which, seeing as he had been buried in a coffin, came as no surprise. Row upon row of headstones dotted the landscape, fading into indistinct shapes in the darkness. Looking up he saw a sky full of stars, but no moon. He strained his ears to see if he could hear something or someone, but there was only the silence that every graveyard had: the silence the living gave in respect to the slumbering dead.

His reconnaissance mission did nothing to inform him of his situation, so he gave up on that idea and began walking away. He went to put his hands in his pockets, only to discover that they were purely for decoration. Feeling somehow even more glum at the lack of pockets, he wove his way through the hodgepodge of graves toward what he supposed was the exit. 

An ornate iron gate, nearly twenty feet tall and ten feet wide, marked the graveyard’s exit. A shadowy something was leaning on the rusty pull-bar, and at first Michael assumed it was some sort of prop. Then the wind shifted, and a dark cloud that had been shielding the moon’s bright face went on its merry way. The sudden wash of light revealed that the “prop” was actually a man. From a distance he appeared mostly normal: his arms were heavily tattooed, but that was the only thing that really seemed to stand out about the guy. 

Still, there was something off about this mysterious person. Michael hung back and patted himself down, futilely searching his funeral suit for anything that could be used to help him in this situation – money, knife, cell phone. Unfortunately, the assholes who had buried him in a suit without pockets hadn't bothered to bury him with anything useful. He literally had the clothes on his back and nothing else. Steeling himself for the worst, he stepped forward. 

Another gust of wind temporarily doused the light, and for a second Michael couldn’t see shit. Barely ten second passed before the moonlight was back, and by then Michael was only two feet away from the guy; now he was close enough to see that…that…

“Holy _shit!_ ” Michael leaped away, tripped over a headstone and fell to ground with a yell.

The “man” had two jet-black horns curving out of his forehead and over his equally dark hair. A dim purplish-blue ball of flame hung impossibly in the air between them. His ears were pointed, like Link’s from the Legend of Zelda, and Michael could have sworn he saw a tufted lion’s tail flicking in the space between the guy’s back and the wall. The inhuman…person had been sleeping - his eyes had been shut, chest rising and falling rhythmically, breath slow and deep - but at the sound of Michael’s yell and the _thud_ of him hitting the ground, he began to stir. The purple flame flared into a brilliant blue light, bright enough to illuminate the air and ground in a three foot diameter around the inhuman dude. He yawned widely: his teeth were sharply pointed and his tongue was forked like a snake’s. One hand moved up to scratch his mustache as his eyes blinked open. The irises were a brilliant, bloody red, suspended in inky black sclerae. 

“Shit, dude,” he said, “how long was I asleep?”

Michael blinked. The demon looked at him pointedly. “Uh…”

He shook his head and stretched. “Not like I really give a fuck anyway.” His tail switched behind him as he smoothed out his mustache. “It all worked out in the end.” 

“What did?”

The demon smiled lazily. “Well, you’re here. I was just waiting for you.”

“You were waiting-” Realization hit Michael like a sack of bricks. He leaped to his feet and pointed an accusatory finger at the humanoid demon. “Hold on – you’re the guy who brought me back to life!”

The demon nodded. “Took fucking forever, too. Thought I’d fucked it up at first, so I decided to sit back and see what would happen. S’why I ended up taking a quick snooze.”

Michael tried to wrap his head around this new information and came up with nothing. “But… _why?_ I mean, thanks, I guess, but why would a fucking devil want to resurrect me? Don’t you have devil shit to do?”

The demon frowned and let out a small hiss. “For starters, I am not a devil, dude. I am a motherfucking demon. Huge difference. Secondly…” Here the demon actually looked a little embarrassed. He shifted around from foot to foot and put his hands in his pockets, while his flame flickered slightly and his tail began swinging like a pendulum. “…I can’t actually tell you why I brought you back. Sorry, man.”

Taken aback by this rebuttal, Michael stared at the demon in horror. Then, like he had many times before, Michael got mad. “What the fuck does _that_ mean? Why can’t you tell me? I’m so fucking confused right now; I just want some goddamn answers!”

“I know, I know.” The demon ran his fingers through his hair and scratched the base of one of his horns. “You were dead, and now you’re alive, and you probably don’t remember anything right now, and you’re upset about all that shit. I understand. I just _can’t_ tell you. It violates a set of rules that are old as dicks, and I am not the sort of guy who’s powerful enough to break those rules. You’re just gonna have to be in the dark for now.” He held up his hands when Michael’s eyes widened in fury. “I’m sorry, but that’s just how it has to be.”

The resurrected YouTuber crossed his arms and glared sullenly at the demon. “Can’t you tell me _anything?_ ”

“Uh…” The demon’s sharp teeth worried his lower lip and he twirled the tip of his mustache around his finger. “…I like your videos. They’re pretty fucking funny.”

Of all the things he could have said, Michael was not expecting this. He ran a hand through his curls and looked down at his feet. All he could think to say was, “Demons watch YouTube?”

“Who doesn’t watch YouTube?” The demon’s patronizing tone irritated Michael’s already frayed nerves, but he managed to keep his mouth shut for the time being. After all, anything that was powerful enough to bring him back to life was powerful enough to put him back in the grave. Meanwhile, the demon was still talking. “…heard about the incident and decided to try and bring you back. I’d never done anything like this before, so you get the honor of being my first undead, uh, ‘companion’ I guess. Worked like a fucking charm, too.” He nodded in approval. 

At this, Michael had to interrupt. “That’s-that’s-that’s just it, man! How the fuck did I fucking die?! I’ve been trying to remember ever since I…woke up…but I haven’t remembered anything! What happened to me? Why am I dead, or undead, or what the fuck ever?”

The demon shook his head. “Sorry, dude. I may be totally fucking awesome, but I’m not God. I only know what the article in the Statesman said.”

“What did the article say?” Michael pressed. Jesus, it felt like he was trying to squeeze blood from a fucking stone. 

“Only that you, Michael Jones, prominent YouTuber, were found dead in the streets about two blocks away from his apartment. Didn’t find anybody nearby, so they assumed it was a drive-by or a robbery gone wrong. Coroner’s report said you’d been shot about five times and died from blood loss and extreme trauma, or some shit like that. You were buried about a week ago, which, coincidentally, is when I started trying to resurrect you. Fucking hard as dicks, resurrection. Nobody ever told me it was so difficult.”

Michael mused over this new information. “But…this doesn't make any fucking sense! I know I’m not the nicest fuck on the internet, but I don’t think I did anything worth being killed over!”

The demon threw his hands up in the air; Michael saw that his black t-shirt had ‘Make Mistakes’ written on it in bold white letters. “That’s not my job, dude! I am a goddamn demon. I fucking cause chaos, kick ass and drink beer. I don’t do detective shit.”

“All right, fine.” Michael gave up on talking to the demon for the time being. Meanwhile, he was growing increasingly tired of the graveyard, so he walked toward the iron gate and started shaking it. He could see the padlock holding the gate shut, but it was rusted, so he thought with enough shaking, he could break it. Unfortunately, at the moment, it was holding fast. He shook it harder, growing more annoyed at the clanking and clanging of chains and bars. 

The demon looked over his shoulder with a margin of interest. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m trying to fucking leave.” He shook the gate as hard as he could. The padlock clanged in protest, but it still wouldn't budge. “I can’t stay in this cemetery forever. Fuck!” He kicked the lock as hard as he could. The bars bent out somewhat, but the lock still held fast and the gate stayed shut.

“You’re not getting anywhere,” he commented. His forked tongue flicked out from between his lips for a few brief seconds. “Do you want, y’know, some help or something?”

Michael turned away from the gate – not before giving it one last kick, though – and looked back at the demon. “What the fuck could you _possibly_ have in mind?”

“I know a place where you can stay for the time being. You’ll be safe – well, safe _r_ – than you will be anywhere else.” Michael opened his mouth to protest, but the demon cut him off. “I know you want answers and all that shit, but you’re not gonna find them here. Besides, if you stay here, someone’s gonna notice you’re not dead, and before you can say ‘Anal probing’ you’re gonna either be behind bars or strapped to a table while scientists cut you into itty bitty tiny little pieces so they can figure out what makes you tick.” The demon shrugged and made to walk away. “I mean, if you _want_ to stay here…”

“Fine, don’t be an asshole. I’ll fucking go.” Michael crossed his arms again and stepped away from the gate.

“Great.” In the blink of an eye, the demon was back at his side. He put his hand on Michael’s shoulder; he could feel five sharp claws sinking into the cheap polyester of his jacket. “I’ll take you to the place I mentioned then. Hope you like mad scientists!”


	2. Haywood You Take Me In?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff takes Michael to a place where he'll be safe...supposedly.

“Wait, what?”

Before Michael could even think, the demon had started to move. He took a step, and the world suddenly blurred out of focus. Even though he was only walking, it felt like they were moving a thousand miles an hour. Stomach lurching wildly, Michael clung to the demon’s arm and closed his eyes, fearing he would splatter like a bug on a windshield if he let go. Just when he was starting to wonder how much longer it would last, the demon stopped moving.

“Here we are,” the demon announced. “Home sweet hellhole.”

He let go of Michael’s shoulder, and the undead youth immediately pitched forward and collapsed on the ground. Lurching up onto his hands and knees he started dry heaving, but of course there was nothing in his stomach for him to throw up. He gripped the grass tight in both hands and let his forehead rest against the tightly packed dirt. “What…the hell…was _that?_ ” he panted.

“Just a nether path we demons use to get around.” Michael glanced up and saw the demon reach down to offer him a hand. He grinned, showing off his sharp fangs. “Pretty neat, huh? Like a superhighway.” The undead let the demon pull him to his feet; he wobbled, but he managed to stay upright.

“Maybe for _you,_ ” he grumbled. “I’m just glad it’s fucking over.”

“Well, we’re here, at least. Whether or not we’ll be able to stay, well, I can’t say for sure.” A hint of worry crept into the demon’s voice at this last part, and his tail flicked about in an agitated fashion.

Feeling woozy as fuck, Michael looked around. The graveyard was completely gone, replaced by a scraggly, overgrown lawn. He and the demon was standing in the front yard of a house, though there were no other houses in the immediate vicinity, which suggested a more country setting. The unwelcome effect of the yard was only amplified by its relative lack of decoration; hidden in the knee-high yellow grass were a scattering of chipped gnomes and one rusted birdbath, but that was it. A chain-link fence marked the edges of the plot, and he was fairly certain he could see barbed wire topping the tall metal barrier. When he examined the house itself more closely, Michael could see it was in a relative state of disrepair; the roof had a patchwork pattern of missing tiles, several of the windows were boarded up, the wooden siding was splintered and barely attached in places, the cement floor of the front steps were cracked and the paint, if it had been in color once, was faded to gray and white. As if to complete the ominous haunted house effect, lightning flashed overhead, and the few lights shining inside flickered.

“Isn't it _lovely?_ ” the demon commented sarcastically. “Very welcoming. Just the place for a reclusive, creepy, unassuming scientist.” He began walking up the gravel path, tail swishing nonchalantly behind him.

Michael trailed behind him, stumbling over roots and pebbles while his mouth ran a mile a minute. “What the fuck is going on? Where the hell are we? Who’s the mad scientist? Why the fuck are there so many gnomes? Also, you still haven’t told me who the fuck you are!”

The demon ignored him, mounted the steps of the house, and approached the door. He tapped it with one claw and it let out the sonorous _bong_ of metal. He sniffed and reached into his pocket to pull out an iPhone. “It’s 12:03,” he muttered. “Probably awake then.” He put the phone back into his pocket and promptly began pummeling the doorbell. Behind him, the recently resurrected YouTuber clambered up the stairs and looked around. There was a rickety looking porch swing hanging forlornly from the rafters, but other than that the rundown porch was free of ornament. There wasn't even a welcome mat, though there was what looked like an intercom beneath the doorbell.

Meanwhile, the demon was still pounding on the doorbell. The cacophony of electronic bells could be heard ringing throughout the house: loud, insistent and never-ending. “Ryan!” the demon shouted at the top of his lungs. “RYAN! I know you’re in there, asshole! It’s me, Geoff! Open the goddamn door! I need to talk to you!” There was a soft whirring sound about a foot over their heads. Michael looked up and saw a security camera turning to look at them. As soon as the camera was focused upon them, the demon – Geoff, he was pretty sure he’d said – flipped it off with both hands and stuck out his forked tongue. “You know it’s me, prick! Open the fucking door!”

“All right!” Michael started and looked around for the source of the voice. Apparently, the intercom wasn't for show, as it was now buzzing with static. The voice emanating from the intercom was tinny and crackly, but it was obviously a man’s. “I’m opening the fucking door. Jesus Christ.” There was a pop and a hiss of escaping pressure followed by a series of metallic thunks. The door swung open with a loud creak, revealing an empty hallway.

“About fucking time,” Geoff sighed, and beckoned to Michael. “C’mon in, Michael. Oh, and don’t worry: he’s promised to only use the scalpels on cadavers. Still, if he tells you to turn your head and cough, run for the fucking hills.”

Michael’s eyes widened. “I thought you said you were taking me someplace _safe,_ ” he said.

Geoff stepped over the threshold and turned back to face the undead guy. “I said I was taking you someplace safe _r,_ ” he corrected, “and I did mention the guy’s not exactly sane. Still, you’ll be better off here than anywhere else, and Ryan does take no for an answer. Most of the time, anyway.” He shrugged and gestured vaguely around them with his clawed hands. “You really don’t have a choice, dude. I can’t exactly take you to my place. It’s here or Ghoulsville.”

“Fine.” Michael stepped warily over the threshold and into the house. As soon as he’d cleared the door, it swung shut with a surprisingly loud _CLANG_. Three large steel bolts sealed the entryway shut with a triage of thunks and another softer hiss sounded as the pressure built back up.

“Fucking paranoid asshole,” Geoff sighed. “Already in the middle of butt-fucked nowhere, and he still thinks somebody’s gonna steal his worthless-ass research.”

Besides the automated front door, the house looked unassuming enough. The foyer was about as free of ornament as the porch and the yard. A solitary, spastically flickering overhead light illuminated the threadbare blue carpet that covered the splintered wooden floor, and there was a table with a single chipped vase perched upon it, as well as some seascapes hanging on the wall. The whole setup screamed of not having enough time to really give a shit about décor, and perhaps of perpetual solitude.

Geoff didn't seem to notice the décor (or lack thereof) and continued down the hallway. Michael trailed behind him, half expecting some silver screen monster to come bursting through the wall or one of the few doors they passed at any moment. Nothing happened, though, and they silently made their way to the living room. With the silence hanging in the air and the scent of dust and decay, this was starting to feel less like a mad scientist’s house and more like a house that had been abandoned and condemned long, long ago. _‘Then again,’_ Michael thought, _‘it would be just like a modern-day mad scientist to take up in a shithole like this. Last place anybody would expect to find ‘em. Way too fucking obvious.’_ After they passed one last door, the duo stepped over a cracked threshold and into the living room.

The living room was about as different from the foyer as it was possible to be. Blueprints and sketches covered the walls from floor to ceiling, some hanging from a single thumbtack, others perfectly pinned so they lay flat and smooth. The IKEA coffee table had a thick layer of papers and journals lying on it, topped by about twenty empty cans of Diet Coke. More Coke cans littered the floor and aged couch, along with both paper and porcelain plates, all of which had varying amounts of crusted, rotten food upon them. The only really nice and horrifically out of place things in the living room were a flat screen LCD TV and a sleek black Xbox 360.

“This place is a fucking dump,” Michael complained.

“Yeah, well, cleanliness may be next to godliness, but progress waits for no man,” Geoff quipped. He nudged a crumpled can with one foot, his nose wrinkling. “Man, he’s been crushing ‘em lately. Must be having some problems with the new project.” He shook his head sadly. “I told him it wasn't going to work, but would he listen? No! Always going on about how he’s gonna get it _soon._ ‘When?’ I ask. ‘Soon,’ is all he ever says. Fucking cryptic asshole.” Geoff suddenly cocked his head toward the leftmost corner of the living room. “Shit, here he comes now. It only took him a billion fucking years.”

There was a sudden pounding of feet coming upstairs, a door slammed open and shut, and then a man who Michael presumed was the mad scientist rounded a previously unseen corner and hurried into the room. As far as mad scientists went, Michael had been expecting someone more like Doc Brown from _Back to the Future_ : poofy white hair, bulky goggles, crazed wide eyes, dirty lab coat, a perpetual air of hectic energy. This guy looked relatively young: his hair was dark blond and relatively well groomed, and the only creases to be found on his face were at the corners of his bright blue, purplish-black-ringed eyes. Several days’ worth of beard darkened his cheeks, jaw and neck, and his wire-rimmed glasses were slightly askew. _‘Must not be sleeping well lately. Not surprising, considering Geoff says he’s been having trouble with his work,’_ Michael thought. He wore a wrinkled green V-neck, blue jeans and black tennis shoes: more like an IT nerd than a mad scientist, in Michael’s opinion.

“About fucking time, Ryan,” Geoff tutted. “What took you so long?”

Ryan yawned, stretched and flipped Geoff off with his left hand. “Fuck off. I was working.”

“No shit you were working. You don’t do _anything_ besides work. Sometimes I don’t think you even leave the house anymore. I mean, look at this.” Geoff gestured around at the mess of dishes, cans and schematics littering the room. “Who fucking lives in a shithole like this? Can’t you stop for five minutes and clean or play Pong or get some fucking fresh air? You’re gonna crash and fucking burn if you don’t.”

“Dude, just because you’re a demon doesn't mean you can boss me around.”

Geoff’s eyes narrowed and his flame let off several white sparks. “I’m not bossing you around, asshole. I’m just giving you some friendly advice. Also, I think being a demon _does_ mean I can boss you around. I just don’t want to because you’re not a fucking baby.”

Ryan snorted. “Yeah, because a demon just goes around giving out ‘friendly advice’.” He held up his hands and mockingly made air quotes around the words Geoff had just spoken. “Also, still don’t think you can boss me around.”

Geoff reared his head angrily, and several more sparks flew from the flame nested between his horns. “Funnily enough, shithead, I didn't come here to butt heads with you. I came here to ask you a favor.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “That’s a little ass-backwards, don’t you think? Demons asking humans favors?”

“Could you stop being a piece of shit for, like, two seconds? Anyway, yeah, I needed to ask you something.” Geoff jerked a thumb over in Michael’s general direction. “It’s about my friend here.”

Ryan, who hadn't seen Michael before, immediately took a step back. The light overhead flared on the lenses of his glasses and rendered them flat white, obscuring his eyes completely. “Who the fuck is this and why is he in my house?” Even though Michael couldn't see his eyes, he sensed that the scientist was glaring suspiciously at him. His arms crossed, he looked from Geoff to Michael and back to Geoff several times.

“Jesus, man, calm down. He’s not going to steal your shit. Fucking worthless to him anyway.” Geoff gestured in Michael’s direction again. “This is Michael Jones, Ryan. Michael, this is Ryan Haywood, the craziest douchebag of a scientist the world has ever seen, but somehow he's sort of decent. Sort of. In the barest sense of the word decent.”

“Why is he _here?_ ” Ryan repeated, ignoring the insults. His agitation seemed to be growing; he was now bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, one finger tapping out a rough staccato rhythm on his upper arm. “Also, my research isn't worthless.”

“Michael needs a place to stay, so I brought him to you. Couldn't take him home with me, and I don’t know anybody else who could take him in. It’s only temporary, dude, so chill out.”

Ryan shook his head. “I don’t do roommate shit.”

“Really?” Geoff asked sarcastically. “I couldn't tell, dude. Anyway, he can’t stay anywhere else.”

“And why’s that?”

Geoff’s tail flicked out as he drew himself up. His flame had grown in size as the disagreement progressed, and it now lit up both horns and threatened to consume his entire head. Bright white sparks shot out like popcorn, hissing as they spun and died in midair. He let out a growl and bared his fangs. While Michael got a little nervous, Ryan didn't even break a sweat. “You’re a _scientist,_ you unobservant shit,” the demon hissed. “Fucking _look_ at him with your eyes and _tell_ me why he can’t go anywhere else.”

Ryan made a frustrated noise and turned back toward Michael. He stared at him for a second and turned back toward Geoff. “I still don’t see why-” Realization suddenly flared in his blue eyes and he did a double take. “Wait a minute…” He gazed down into Michael’s eyes, all traces of fatigue and annoyance suddenly gone, replaced by an almost feral eagerness. “Oh. _Oh!_ Didn't notice _that_ before. Hm.”

“What?” Michael suddenly felt self-conscious. Geoff had said that he’d been dead for a week - well, he said he'd been _buried_ for a week - before he’d been resurrected. Maybe the time, though short, had taken its toll on him? Was he all green? Rotten? Wormy? Each idea of what he might look like made him sicker and sicker. He looked down at his hands; they _looked_ normal enough. What could have possibly been so damning that it tipped Ryan off?

Geoff, meanwhile, was eyeing Ryan with suspicion. “Ryan, I know what you’re thinking, and I’m gonna tell you to not fucking ruin this for me. This was my first successful resurrection – the last thing I wanna hear is that you've fucking killed him and shredded him for your fucking experiments.” His fire was dying down now that Ryan was seemingly relenting, but it still gave off one annoyed spark when Geoff said this.

“I suppose the fact he’s already dead wouldn't-” Upon seeing the flash of anger in Geoff’s red eyes, Ryan put his hands in his pockets and quickly amended his statement. “Who said anything about murder? He’ll be _fine._ ”

Geoff scoffed. “I swear, if I hear anything happened to him, I’ll kill you myself.” He strode forward until he was standing face-to-face with Ryan. “Do we have a deal, or don’t we?”

“…Do _I_ get anything out of this?” Ryan grumbled.

“That depends on what Michael feels.” The demon turned to Michael. “I think Ryan’ll let you stay here for the time being,” he said. He glanced back at the scientist. “Right?”

Ryan shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

Michael looked down at the cracked and splintered floor boards, thinking. _‘Fuck me…how the fuck did I get into this horseshit?’_ He glanced back up at the mad scientist. “…If I stay,” he said hesitantly, “will you do anything to me?”

“Define ‘do anything’.”

Michael shrugged and gesticulated wildly. “I don’t fucking know! Weird science shit! Scalpels and probes and test tubes and all that Frankenstein shit! Will you do anything like _that?_ ”

“Uh…” The fact that Ryan had to think about his answer made Michael nervous. “…not…unless…you specifically…ask me to,” he finally answered.

Michael supposed that would have to do. “Okay then,” he said, “what do you want in return for me staying here?”

Ryan stared at him. “What?”

“Dude, don’t do it,” Geoff hissed in his ear. “Asshole fucking owes me for this.”

“Maybe he does, but he doesn't owe _me_ anything,” Michael shot back. “I don’t want to be a fucking freeloader just because _you_ say it’s okay.” He turned back to Ryan. “What do you want in return for me staying here?” he repeated. “I can already tell this place needs a fucking hand and a half, and I've done repairs and shit in the past. Anything you fucking want, I’ll do it – within reason.”

Geoff sighed in exasperation and threw his hands up. “Fucking bullshit-ass bullshit.”

Ryan, meanwhile, was thinking about Michael’s question. “Uh…well, I suppose…um…”

“What is it? Fucking spit it out already.”

He shrugged. “Would you…mind…if I just did some simple tests on you?” When Michael opened his mouth, he raised one hand to placate him. “I know what you asked and I know what I said: hear me out! You want answers, right? I’m not a magician, but I will do what I can to help you. Which is, um, mad science…stuff. That’s how I’ll help you. With science.”

Michael glared at him. “This sounds like a much cushier deal for you than for me…”

“That’s all I've got. Take it or leave it.”

The undead sighed in resignation. Taking a step forward, he held out his hand. “Fine. It’s a deal.”

“Deal.” Ryan reached out and shook Michael’s hand. As soon as the gesture ended, he rubbed that hand against the leg of his jeans. “Fuck, your hands are _freezing._ ”

“Are they?” That was weird; they felt pretty normal to Michael. A little stiff – possibly from some lingering rigor mortis – but otherwise fine.

“I’m glad you guys settled that,” Geoff said, a touch resentfully. His flame had fully died back down into its ‘normal’ ball form by now. He strode over to Michael and leaned down. “Remember,” he murmured, “if he starts being an asshole, punch him in the dick and tell him it’s from me.”

“I can still hear you, you know…” Ryan stated.

“Then consider it a warning, you eavesdropping douche.” Geoff glared at him and stomped off in the direction Ryan had come from, the tip of his tail giving one last flick before vanishing around the corner. “You wouldn't happen to have any sort of alcoholic beverages, would you? All this bullshit and the night’s still young; I’m gonna fucking need a drink to get through the rest of it.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Of course you don’t, because you’re boring! Fine, I’ll take a fucking Coke, then.”

“Geoff, don’t go through my shit!” Ryan called to him. “Fucking get out of my kitchen!”

“I just want a drink, okay? Sheesh.” Seconds later, Geoff let out a dismayed cry. “Dude, what the fuck is this?!”

“What?” Ryan strode back around the corner, followed closely by Michael. Geoff was standing in the kitchen, hand resting on the handle of a surprisingly pristine fridge. “What is it now?”

“Dude…” Geoff whirled around and slammed something on the island behind him. Michael took one look at it and felt his still weakened stomach lurch horribly. Seven vials of dark red blood sloshed viscously in their containers as Geoff moved them from fridge to counter-top. “What the fuck have I told you about using your kitchen fridge for your goddamn specimens? It’s fucking weird as shit! Nobody wants to see fucking _blood_ next to-” He glanced back in the fridge, “-right next to your fucking leftover barbecue! Jesus, what are you, a vampire? You are gonna give people the wrong fucking idea!”

“Dude, put those back!” Ryan snatched the blood samples away from Geoff and shoved them back into the fridge. “You’re gonna fucking ruin them!”

“Don’t put them back in the food fridge! Put them in the weird stuff fridge you have downstairs!” Geoff yanked the samples back out and returned them to the island.

“That one’s full! I can’t put them anywhere else!” Ryan smacked Geoff’s hands away and pushed the samples as far back into the fridge as they would go.

“The fact that your fucking weird shit fridge is completely full of weird shit really worries me.” Geoff stepped away from the fridge, his nose wrinkling. “Seriously, dude, sometimes I think you need help. Like, psychiatry help.”

“Then I wouldn't be a ‘mad’ scientist; I’d just be a boring _regular_ scientist.” Ryan tried to close the door, but Geoff had spotted something else and was pawing through the fridge’s depths. “What’re you doing _now?!_ ”

“The fuck is _this?_ ” The demon had pulled out an Erlenmeyer flask filled with yellowish liquid and capped with a rubber stopper. “Please tell me this isn't what I think it is.”

However, as soon as Geoff had pulled the flask out of the fridge, the scientist gasped, pulled the door toward himself and cringed behind it. Michael took that as a bad sign and took several steps back. “Jesus, be careful with that!”

“Why? Is it an explosive?” Geoff asked sardonically. When Ryan didn't respond right away, the demon’s red and black eyes widened and his flame flared into brilliant blue-white once again. “It _is_ a fucking explosive?! You’re keeping _explosives_ in your fucking _fridge?!_ What the hell is _wrong_ with you? You’re gonna fucking kill yourself!”

“I know what I’m doing. You’re the one waving that stuff around.” Ryan peeked over the edge of the fridge, his glasses sliding down his nose. “Now, can you please put it back? I, uh, don’t want to…die.”

Geoff let out an angry hiss, but complied and put the flask back in the fridge. “I’m already starting to regret asking you to look after Michael.”

“Nah, it’s good, it’s good. Don’t worry about it.” Ryan shut the fridge and looked over at the undead youth. “I swear, you’ll be fine. Honest. Really. I’m only shit at taking care of myself."

“Wow, _that’s_ reassuring.” Michael pursed his lips and glanced over at Geoff. “You’re absolutely positive there’s nowhere else I can go?”

“Yeah. Also, you've already promised to stay, haven’t you?” The demon shrugged helplessly. “Nothing more I can do. Sorry, dude.”

He bit his lip and looked down at his dirt-encrusted shoes. “…Can’t you just take me home?” he asked. As of the moment, Michael had no idea where 'home' might be, or if he would actually miss it if he remembered what it was, but it had to be better than here. _Anywhere_ had to be better than here.

“I’m sorry, Michael, but I can’t do that.” Geoff sounded sad, yet resolute. “Remember those rules I was talking about? Because of stuff I've already said I can’t say, you can’t go home. That’s that.”

Feeling more lost than ever, the undead looked back up. “So I have to stay here with Dr. Leaves-Explosives-and-Body-Parts-In-The-Fridge?”

“You’re the one who promised to stay,” Geoff reminded him again. “Deal’s a deal. Trust me, I should know. Also, don't call him a doctor because he's not certified and it'll only go to his head, and there was only blood in the fridge…right?” He glared at Ryan.

“Uh…is it bad that I don’t know?”

“God fucking dammit.” Geoff pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Every time I try to reassure the guy, you say something fucking weird.”

“How is ‘I don’t know’ weird?”

“The fact that the entire statement is ‘I don’t know if there are fucking body parts in my fucking fridge!’”

“I…guess you have a point there, yeah,” Ryan conceded.

“Finally, we fucking agree on something.” He shook his head and scratched the base of his left horn. “Anyway, Michael, you’ll be fine here. If you can, contact me at…fuck, I forgot you don’t have a phone any more. Well, shit.”

“Can I say your name three times, or does that not work?”

Geoff gave him a very unamused look. “Do you know how many fucking demons there are named Geoff? And not Geoff with a G, either, but lame Jeff with a J. Anyway, you’d have a line of demons out the fucking door and around the block – twice. Also, I probably wouldn't be one of them. It’s the 21st century: if you want me, call my fucking phone.” He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins, a wallet, what looked suspiciously like teeth, and a business card. “There it is,” he said triumphantly. “I'm sure this fuck has a phone somewhere; if you ever get your hands on it and you gotta talk to me, call this number, and I’ll do my best to get to ya.” Michael reached out to take the card, but Geoff yanked it back out of his reach. "Now, I'm a busy demon, so I'm giving this to you with the promise that you won't call me for stupid shit, okay? Well, okay, I might come if you wanna go barhopping, but other than that, I'll fucking hang up."

"All right, I get it. Don't call you unless it's a fucking emergency or for drinks." Geoff nodded and gave him the card. Michael took it, but he didn't have a pocket to put it into, so he just held it. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it.” The demon put the rest of the shit back into his pocket and pulled his iPhone back out. “Fuck, it’s 12:17 already?” He put the phone back into his pocket, dusted off his shirt and curled the tips of his mustache with his claws. “I gotta fly, assholes. Places to be, demon shit to do. One last thing: Michael, don’t worry. Ryan, buy some fucking food, clean your house and don’t be a prick. I will fucking tear you apart if you’re a prick. Seriously, I mean it.” He waved to them and turned toward the doorway. “See you bitches later.” He took a step, and vanished into the ether like smoke in the breeze.


	3. Needling - For Science!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan’s alone with Michael. Now the weird science shit can commence.

Now Michael was alone with Ryan the weird mad scientist guy. He hadn’t even gotten an opportunity to say goodbye before Geoff had left. So many goddamn questions left unanswered…not to mention the fact Ryan was staring at him. His unblinking, piercing blue gaze made Michael feel like he was being dissected, and very much tipped the scales more in favor of the mad scientist look and less in favor of nerdy IT guy. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Um…”

“Well, uh, since you’re gonna be staying here…maybe I should show you around?”

“Why’re you asking me? It’s your goddamn house.” He crossed his arms and frowned at the scientist. “Just fucking do _something_ besides be fucking creepy.”

“I wasn’t being _that_ creepy.” He moved past the undead and stood in the hallway. “That door right there,” he pointed to the nearest door on the right, “leads upstairs to the rest of the house. I _think_ there’s a guestroom up there, but I’m not sure. I, uh, haven’t really been up there in a while.”

“You haven’t been up there? Where do you _sleep,_ man?”

“I have a cot in the lab, and the couch isn’t that bad. Anyway, I haven’t _been_ sleeping lately.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Probably not going to, either.”

“Why the hell not? Maybe you’d actually be able to get some fucking work done.”

“Dunno if I would, actually. I just…I won’t be able to rest until this is done.”

Michael stared at the scientist in vague horror. “You have a fucking one-track mind, don’t you?”

“Yeah, well, I can’t manage any more than one. I can barely manage one as it is.” Ryan gestured vaguely around the living room. “I mean, you can see all this fucking chaos. I don’t particularly _want_ to live in a dump, I just…forget that I do when I’m working.”

“Don’t you ever even _think_ about going out? Doing normal shit?”

“Like what?”

“Uh…” Michael honestly couldn’t think of anything to say. The scientist had already said he didn’t drink, and he didn’t seem like the sort who would enjoy partying anyway. “I don’t fucking know, _something_ that isn’t staying inside and doing weird science stuff.” Obviously unimpressed, the mad scientist turned back and headed toward the kitchen. “Some fucking tour, dude!” he called after him.

“There’s pretty much nothingin this house. First door when you come in’s a bathroom, one after that’s a closet, then there’s the stairs, and the living room after that, then the kitchen. And after that…” He turned back, his eyes gleaming brightly behind his glasses. “Well, _that’s_ where I live.”

“In the fucking basement? Jesus, you’re just getting weirder by the second.”

“Says the guy who rose from the grave.” Ryan sounded just a little bit petulant. “It’s not that weird anyway. Lots of people live in their basements.”

“Yeah? And how many of those people are fucking _mad scientists?_ ”

“Uh…I see your point.” He disappeared around the corner, and Michael was just curious enough to follow him. They entered the kitchen and walked past the fridge, which Michael eyed with slight suspicion, and stopped at a strangely out of place steel door. Ryan leaned down and flipped open a panel to reveal a code pad. He inputted a very long number – Michael heard the code pad emit at least twenty beeps – put his thumb on a blue striated screen, which turned green and let out an affirmative beep, and then put his face right up against a depression, which also let out a beep of affirmation. There was a loud _thunk_ and the door swung open.

“You _really_ are fucking paranoid. Seriously, a code, thumbprint _and_ eye scanner? Who do you think is gonna break into this shithole?”

“Pays to be prepared. And it’s a _retinal_ scanner.” Ryan pushed the door the rest of the way open and disappeared inside.

When Michael moved to follow him, he nearly tripped and killed himself on the first of many steep stone stairs. They went on and on, eventually disappearing into the shadows. One flickering light illuminated the entrance, as well as a big red button set beside the doorframe, but those were the only sources of light. Ryan didn’t seem to mind it; he was descending the staircase confidently and in seconds was swallowed by darkness. “Slow down, you fuck,” Michael complained, “I nearly broke my goddamn neck.”

“Nah, it’s good. You’re fine, aren’t you?”

Michael glared at his back. “Couldn’t you _at least_ install some fucking lights down here?”

“Hold on…” Ryan pounded on the wall of the staircase, and a brilliant white light flared into being about twenty stairs in front of them. Michael blinked; having already adjusted to the darkness, the light startled him. He rubbed his eyes with one sleeve, then started swearing because the dust lingering on his funeral clothing served only to irritate him further.

“Fucking bullshit ass stupid fucking whore _dirt!”_

“Huh?”

“Fucking dirt on my fucking clothes got in my fucking eyes! God _dammit!”_

“…All right then.” The stairs finally ended then, and the pair stepped out of the darkness and into the light.

If the living room and kitchen had been different from the foyer, then the lab was as different from them as a Pomeranian from a gray wolf. Sleek metallic walls stretched high over their heads, connected by a concave ceiling. There were nine tables occupying the floor; three on the wall to their left, three on the wall to their right, and three in the exact center of the room. LCD monitors lined the walls and occupied one of the desks. Some of these displayed rows of numbers, others chemical compounds, and three situated on a far desk was cycling through what looked like security camera footage. Machines and wires piled high on some of the tables, while flasks filled with chemicals bubbled away on others. One table was completely covered in a pristine white sheet so nobody could see what lay underneath. Behind this table was a hulking goliath of a machine; it had several pylons with electricity jumping in between rods, Jacob’s ladder style, and a meter on front proclaiming “90%” though Michael couldn’t say what it was ninety percent of. There were two other doors that he could see: one looked like a large metal walk-in freezer, and the other was a large, barred prison door. He shuddered to think what behind that door might warrant such thick bars and inch wide rivets.

Ryan navigated the lab with ease, carefully squeezing past hulking piles of half-finished contraptions. Some of the machines they passed were straight out of _Frankenstein,_ others were gleaming and modern, while still others were a Rube Goldberg, jerry-rigged mess of wires and metal bits. Michael eyed them suspiciously; he felt like any one of them might leap out and attack him at any moment. They remained inert, if still menacing, and they moved on.

“Here we are,” Ryan announced. They had arrived in what Michael guessed was the only clear spot in the entire laboratory. The table had only a microscope, a stethoscope, a red toolbox, an iPad and a dirty lab coat upon it. What looked suspiciously like a dentist’s reclining chair sat next to it, the pleather cracked and the foam yellowed. “I _knew_ I left that thing around here somewhere,” the scientist commented. He picked up the lab coat and put it on, ignoring the loud jingling and clinking coming from its pockets when he did so.

With the addition of the lab coat, the transformation from harmless IT nerd to not-so-harmless scientist was complete. He tugged on the lapels and dusted down the front, which did absolutely nothing to tidy up the work-worn coat. He walked over to the table and retrieved the tablet. Pulling a stylus from his pocket, he began tapping on the screen. A nearby screen that Michael hadn’t noticed suddenly flared into life and displayed the message _‘Please Wait…’_ before switching to an empty Excel spreadsheet.

The undead backed away, suddenly wary of the whole situation. “Wait a minute…you’re not gonna start testing on me, are you?”

The scientist turned to look at him. The glare from the iPad did that thing with his glasses again, so Michael couldn’t see his eyes. “It _was_ part of our agreement, wasn’t it?”

“Dude, what the _fuck?!_ You don’t…you don’t go around just fucking showing people your medical shit and then just…just expect them to…fuck! Jesus fucking Christ you fucking son of a bitch! I haven’t agreed to _shit_ just yet!”

“All right, all right, I’m sorry. Jesus.” Ryan put the iPad down and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I admit, I should have asked you first. I just thought since we were down here-”

“What? You’d sit me down and start shoving things up my ass? No! Fuck off!” Michael crossed his arms and glared at the scientist. “This was _not_ what I fucking signed up for, asshole.”

“What makes you think I want to, uh, ‘shove’ anything anywhere? Ugh.” Ryan’s entire face scrunched up in disgust at the mention of ‘shoving’. “Honestly, if you _really_ don’t want to, I understand. You’ve had a long night already. You, uh, can go back…upstairs, and I’ll…I’ll get back to work.” The scientist’s look of disgust had since turned into slightly embarrassed shame. “Need to figure some shit out anyway.”

Michael let out a frustrated huff. _‘Fucking asshole.’_ He thought about it for a minute and shifted from foot to foot. “If there’s anything involving catheters, anal probes or blue rubber gloves, I swear to fucking Christ…”

“I already said _no!_ Christ. Just a partial physical and a couple of blood tests, I swear! I’ve never seen a successfully resurrected undead, well, _anything_ before. I don’t want to lose this opportunity. And, uh, I want to help you, of course.”

“Of _course_ you do.” He glared at the scientist, but relaxed ever so slightly. “No probing?”

“No probing.”

“Is there a point where I have to turn my head and cough?”

“No.”

“Will you, at any point, be touching my penis?”

“Well, if you want me to…”

“What?!”

“I’m kidding!” He held up his hands and grinned. It gave him a much less intimidating – if slightly more manic – air. “I swear that was a joke. Cross my heart, I won’t do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable. Just a physical and some blood tests, at least for now.”

“For _now?_ ”

Ryan shrugged. “Once I figure out what’s going on, we’ll go from there.”

Michael walked over to the chair and stood by it sulkily. “All right, you fucking crazy asshole. Let’s fucking start this already.”

“Hold on – gotta make sure all my tools are here…” He walked over to the table and flipped open the toolbox’s lid. “Looks all right…” He reached out and picked his tablet back up. “Can you take your shirt off?”

Michael stared at him in horror. “I thought you said-”

“How many times do I have to say it? I’m not gonna do anything weird! I just want to look at your back!”

“…Why?”

“Just take it off. I have a hunch, and if I’m right, you’re gonna want to see it.”

“Geoff was right; you’re a fucking cryptic asshole,” he grumbled, but he threw off his jacket and began unbuttoning his shirt anyway. It was nice to get the itchy piece of shit off in any case. The cold air of the lab immediately made goose bumps rise up on his skin, and he couldn’t help but shiver.

“Turn around…” Feeling completely ridiculous, he nevertheless complied. He heard Ryan tapping on his tablet, and then the telltale shutter sound of a camera. “Yup. Thought so.”

“What? Is there something on my back? What is it?” Michael nervously began feeling the parts of his back he could reach. Nothing _felt_ out of place or unfamiliar… “Get it off!”

Ryan tapped once on the screen, and the monitor on the wall switched from the Excel spreadsheet to the picture he’d just taken. Michael turned to look at it, eyes widening in shock. In the picture, his back and upper arms were completely covered in a series of intricate tattoos. Black as night and bold as day, they formed shapes and letters beyond human comprehension. The tattoos started on the back of his neck with a half-circle above two parallel dots, a pattern echoed on his upper arms. Beneath that was a circle with two points: one pointing up at the half-circle, the other pointing down at his tailbone. This circle was where the majority of the lettering was concentrated, all surrounding an hourglass shape in the exact center of his back. The bottom point started a series of bird track like markings, all of which pointed up. The final marking looked like a curly bracket on its side; it capped off his spine just above the waistband of his pants. Hairs rising on his arms and neck, Michael reached around and touched the back of his neck, where the crown of the half-circle touched the vertebra separating his neck from his spine. He most certainly had not had these in life. Most of his true life might be a fog at the moment, but of that he could be certain. “When…how the…what the fuck is this shit?”

“It’s a binding sigil,” Ryan explained. “Used to bind a soul to a host.”

“‘Binding sigil’?” Michael stared at the picture, as if it would reveal all of its secrets to him if he looked long enough. “Is this…this is what’s keeping me alive.”

“Well, ‘alive’ is a bit of a stretch, but yeah, it’s why you’re moving around and not six feet under.” Ryan put the iPad back on the table. “When you died, the ties holding your soul – or life force, or spirit, or juju, or whatever the fuck you wanna call it – to your body were cut. When Geoff resurrected you, he had to create new ties to reattach your soul to your body. So…if that sigil is ever broken…”

Ryan had trailed off, but his meaning was explicitly clear. “It gets broken, I go back to being dead.” Michael rubbed the back of his neck and felt as though a heavy weight had settled into his stomach. His unlife depended on the marks spanning his back, which suddenly made him feel fragile and exposed. What if he fell through glass or got stabbed or something? Would the spell holding him together stop the moment one line was broken?

The scientist seemed to sense the undead’s turmoil, and moved to comfort him. “I highly doubt your sigil will be easy to break. Demonic spells are notoriously tough to deal with, and who knows? Physically breaking it might not be enough.”

“‘Might not be enough’?”

“I don’t know; I’m a mad scientist, not a freaking wizard. Magic isn’t my department. You want to find out more about signs and sigils, talk to Geoff whenever he gets back.” Ryan turned around, picked the stethoscope up off the table, put its earpieces into his ears and began rubbing the diaphragm against his jeans. “Next thing: gonna check heart rate, pulse and shit like that.” He placed the diaphragm against Michael’s chest and began searching for a heartbeat. “Hm, having some trouble finding your heart…maybe, no, could it be, no…”

“What is it _now?_ ”

“Unless I’m mistaken, you don’t have a heartbeat. Either that or it’s really slow and really, _really,_ **_really_** quiet.” Ryan reached out and grabbed Michael’s hand, pressing his index and middle finger against his wrist. “…Nope, no pulse, either. Also, you’re still _really_ fucking freezing.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? My fucking heart’s fine. I can feel it.” Michael reached out, grabbed the stethoscope’s diaphragm and pressed it against his chest, right over his heart. “Fucking listen this time, asshole.”

Ryan shook his head. “There’s nothing there, Michael.”

“It’s there, you fuck! You’re just not listening!”

The scientist took the stethoscope’s ear tips out of his ears and let the device fall back around his neck. “Michael…you, uh, _do_ realize you’re dead, right?”

“I _was_ dead.”

“No, you’re _still_ dead. You weren’t brought back to life, you were just brought back. You can move around and shit, but that’s it.” He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, man. You’re essentially a walking corpse.”

“Then why do I have a heartbeat, huh? Explain that, if you’re so fucking smart!” In his rage, Michael sprayed spit all over the scientist and down his front.

Ryan removed his saliva-covered glasses and wiped them with the corner of his shirt. “It’s possible…you could be hallucinating. Your mind can’t accept that you’re dead, so it’s making you hear a heartbeat, even though your heart’s stopped. You’re breathing even though your lungs don’t work anymore. When you dug your way out of your grave, you probably felt like you were suffocating. All of that – hallucination.”

“You…you sayin’ I’m tripping?”

“Not _that_ sort of hallucination. The psychosomatic kind. You’re not aware of it and you didn’t take anything.” He finished wiping off his glasses and put them back on. “You’re a fucking corpse, man. Accept it.”

Michael stumbled back a step. The back of the chair hit his legs and he unconsciously sat down. He felt as though the blood was rushing out of his body, leaving him cold and numb. He could still feel his heart beating in his chest, though now he wasn’t sure if it was real, or if Ryan was right and he was just fooling himself into thinking it was beating. This undead thing was getting harder to accept the longer it went on. “…tell me we’re fucking done,” he finally managed to say. “I was done with this shit from the moment I woke up.”

“Just one more thing.” He went to the toolbox and started rummaging for something.

The undead YouTuber eyed the toolbox with more than a little trepidation. “I know I’m a fucking undead zombie or whatever, but I’m pretty sure that still makes me somewhat human.”

“What? Oh, the box.” Ryan shook the toolbox; it let out a series of tinkles and clinks. “I didn’t have any other box to keep my medical shit in.”

“Great.” Michael let his head thud back against the headrest of the chair and stared up at the ceiling. “So what now?”

“Just gonna take a couple of blood samples, and then we’ll be done for now.”

Michael looked over at Ryan; the scientist had put on a pair of thick PVC gloves and was holding one of the weird needles with the vacuum tube attached to it, along with four test tubes about the size of Michael’s index finger. “What the hell is with you and blood, man? That’s really fucking gross.”

“What’re you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with my blood samples. I need ‘em for experiments and shit.” Ryan turned back to Michael, needle held at the ready. “Now hold out your arm.”

He shifted in the dental chair and turned away. “C’mon…”

“Don’t be a wuss. Hold out your arm.”

“Do I even _have_ blood anymore? I mean, I am fucking dead, right?”

“That’s one of the things I wanna find out. Now grow a pair and fucking give me your arm.”

“Ugh, _fine._ ” Michael petulantly rolled up his sleeve and stuck out his arm, expressing his distaste by extending his middle finger before letting his hand go limp.

Taking hold of Michael’s upper arm with one hand, Ryan pulled a length of blue rubber out of his box with the other and tied it right above the elbow joint. He then used his teeth to pull off the needle’s cap and began searching for a vein. After he brought a blue vein into sharp relief, the needle was placed against Michael’s pale skin, and Ryan began applying pressure.

After a minute of unsuccessful poking, Michael’d had enough. “What’s taking so long? Push harder, you wimp.”

“It’s not going in.” Ryan’s brow furrowed as he adjusted the needle. “Your skin’s pretty fucking tough….hold on, think I got it…” He jabbed the needle sharply into Michael’s elbow. There was a sharp _ping_ as the needle promptly snapped in half; Michael felt the broken needle hit his cheek as it flew up and away. Ryan was left holding a tube with a jagged metal nub sticking out of it, and he looked rather sheepish about it, too. “Well…shit.”

“The fuck just happened?”

“The needle broke. Your skin is _really_ fucking tough. Must be part of that undead servant thing.” Ryan went back to his box and started rummaging. “Now it’s a challenge! Lemme get a bigger needle…”

“Of course you have bigger needles,” Michael muttered to himself. Then something Ryan had just said finally registered with him, and he didn’t like the sound of it at all. “Wait…did you say undead _servant?_ ”

“Yeah, why?” Ryan pulled a packet out of the box and examined it closely. Apparently satisfied, he set about disposing of the broken needle-nub still attached to the blood tube thing.

“I’m nobody’s fucking servant, all right?”

“Demons don’t just go around resurrecting people for the hell of it – not even a demon like Geoff. Either he wanted an undead servant, which means his resurrecting spell didn’t completely work, or someone made a deal with him to resurrect you, so he succeeded after all.” There was a soft ripping sound as he tore the package open and attached the biggest fucking needle Michael had ever seen to the tube. This needle was about the size and length of a ballpoint pen and aimed straight for the crook of his elbow.

“Holy _shit,_ what the hell is that?!” He yanked his arm back and held it protectively.

“Calm down, it’s a donation needle. Haven’t you ever donated blood before?”

“No – yes – gah, that’s not the point! Why are you using the king of all needles to get a fucking blood sample?”

“Cuz the other needle broke. This one should be thick enough, though…” Ryan held out his hand, and after a moment’s consideration, Michael reluctantly gave him his arm again. “I’m gonna count down from three, and then I’m gonna shove it in.”

“Can you stop talking about ‘shoving it in’? It’s starting to get weird.”

“Hey, you’re the one who went there, not me…okay, three…two…” Ryan shoved the needle as hard as he could into Michael’s elbow; he bit back a yell of shock, toes and fingers curling in on themselves. This needle did manage to pierce his skin and sink into the vein, but it required a lot of effort on Ryan’s part to do so. He was actually sweating a little bit by the time the needle was fully inserted into Michael’s arm. “One,” he finished.

“You fucking rat bastard.”

“What?”

“You said you’d count down from three and _then_ shove! You got to two and fucking _punched_ it in!”

“It hurts less when you do it earlier.” Ryan taped the needle into place and attached one of the test tubes to the bigger tube. “Cuz then you’re not expecting it.”

“Yeah, sure.” Michael glared sullenly at the scientist, who was now focused on getting his oh-so-precious blood samples. Now the tube was pulling his blood into the vial; viscous black liquid streamed steadily into the tube and filled it within seconds. He stared in vague horror at the sight of the dark blood. “Why is my blood fucking _black_?”

“Part of that whole undead thing, I guess. Kinda neat, isn’t it?”

“Easy for you to say – your blood isn’t _fucking black!_ What the hell happened to me?!”

“Dunno, but I bet I can find out with enough testing.”

Michael was silent for a minute. He watched as Ryan took another three samples of blood and set them aside. When the fourth sample was filled and capped off, Ryan pulled the needle out of Michael’s arm and tossed it into a nearby bin labeled “CAUTION: BIOHAZARDOUS WASTE.” The wound in Michael’s arm let out one small bead of black blood, and then to his surprise, it scabbed over instantly. Rubbing his sore elbow in a cautious manner, he asked, “Are you fucking done _now?_ ”

“Yeah, I’m done. Don’t worry.”

“…Good, cause I’ve had more than enough for one fucking night. Fucking crazy asshole.” Michael picked up his jacket, grimacing at the rough feel of the cheap polyester fibers. “Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have a spare set of clothes lying around somewhere?”

“Uh…maybe in some of the boxes upstairs? I’m not sure. Maybe…I dunno.” Ryan glanced over at the covered table and bit his lip. “If we’re done here…would you mind if I, uh, got back to work?”

“Jeez, what’s so fucking special about your ‘work,’ huh? What the fuck could be _so_ important that you’d fucking risk your health for it?”

As soon as Michael asked the questions Ryan’s demeanor became much colder. He cradled the blood samples to his chest and turned away. “…I don’t….really want to talk about it…right now. It’s…just…it’s _important._ ”

“Riiiight. ‘Important.’”

Ryan began walking away, heading in the direction of the covered table. He stopped for a moment and glared sternly at Michael. “Two things: one, don’t touch anything in the fridge, and two, the third door from the left in the upstairs hallway is locked. Don’t even _think_ about going in there.” With that said and done he spun on his heel and walked away.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Michael turned around and walked back to the entrance of the lab. He bounded up the stairs, eager to leave the lab behind him for the time being. The stairs weren’t nearly as ominous the second time around, though the door stumped him for a little bit. Eventually he figured out that he had to hit the big red button to get it to open, and it rewarded his action by promptly smacking him in the face. _‘Stupid fucking worthless piece of shit,’_ he grumbled and stepped out of the stairwell.

The kitchen, while nearly bare, was a welcome sight after the lab. He glared at the forbidden fridge for a moment before walking back into the living room. Remembering what Ryan had said earlier, he walked to the first door in the foyer, pulled it open and saw a set of wooden stairs leading up into the rest of the house. Michael took these stairs two at a time and ended up in a dimly lit hallway. There were five doors in this hallway: two on the right and three on the left. The third most door on the left was the forbidden one, and the first door on the left looked like the master bedroom, so Michael opened the first door on the right and found that it was indeed the guestroom. It, like the rest of the house, was in a shabby state. There was one threadbare bed, a boarded up window, a sagging dresser, a splintery closet door, and another door.

Tossing his jacket onto the bed, he walked over to the door and peeped inside. It led, unsurprisingly, to a dingy bathroom. While the bathroom wasn’t exactly a five-star establishment, Michael was glad to have an opportunity to shower. He was still coated in dirt from his grave, and he’d been sweltering in the polyester suit – even though, being undead, he hadn’t been sweating – so he walked inside, shut the door behind him and took off his pants. When he turned the shower tap on, he half expected the water to be all rusty and lukewarm, so it was a pleasant surprise to see that it was all clear and hot. Unfortunately there didn’t seem to be any sort of soap in the shower, meaning he would have to settle for a rinse, but after all he’d been through tonight, a plain hot shower seemed like a fucking blessing. At the very least, all the dirt would be gone.

Minutes later Michael decided he was clean enough for the time being and shut the water off. A nearby cabinet yielded some worn but clean towels, which was lucky. Wrapping one about his waist, Michael was about to leave the bathroom when he saw the dim and fuzzy outline of his reflection in the cracked mirror over the sink. It occurred to him that since the events of the evening had progressed so quickly he’d never thought to ask how Ryan had identified him as undead so quickly. Remembering his fear of being disgusting and decomposed, he walked up to the mirror and wiped the condensation away with his free hand.

The Michael looking back at him from the mirror was a stark, shocking contrast to his last memory of seeing himself alive. His skin was much paler than it had been in life, so pale his actual tattoos – those done by an artist’s needle and not by a demon’s magic – stood out almost garishly against their now milky backdrop. Five puckered red scars on his chest and stomach provided another splash of color; each one marked where a bullet had torn flesh and shattered bone; each one served as a reminder of the fateful night when his true life had ended, only one week before his unlife began. A sixth scar formed a giant letter T spanning the width of his shoulders and the length of his torso. He traced it with one finger, and realized with a pang of horror that it was from his autopsy. With every new detail he took in, his unlife became a little bit more of a reality. 

Most damning and stark of all the changes was that of his eyes. In life, Michael’s eyes had been dark brown and entirely unremarkable. His death, or subsequent resurrection, had caused the whites of his eyes to darken to oily greenish-black and bleached the brown in his irises until they were a pale, deathly shade of gray. Michael reached up with his free hand and tugged back his left eyelid: his entire eyeball was the same shimmering green, like the carapace of a scarab beetle. No wonder Ryan had known what he was just by looking at him – his eyes screamed that he was far from being a normal human. Not even encephalitis made eyes look this…this… _wrong._ He let his eyelid fall back into place and started rubbing at it with frantic fingers, as if it was some horrible drawing he could erase, or some irritation to be removed, but to no avail. His undead eyes still stared at him when he stopped rubbing, green and gray and strange.

In the end, Michael knew he would just have to move on. He would probably be spending a very long time like this, so he needed to suck it up and get used to it. Reluctantly, he tore himself away from his reflection and headed back into the guestroom. Unless he wanted to spend the rest of his stay here in a towel or in his filthy polyester funeral suit, he would need some actual clothes, so he walked over to the closet and pulled open the door. Immediately after the door creaked open a wave of must and mothball stench assaulted him, and he ducked away to gag. Undeath, it would seem, might provide thicker skin, but it did not rob him of his senses, which, until now, he had been glad for. Once he’d grown accustomed to the smell, Michael pushed the door aside and began looking through the closet’s interior. There was a lot of shit to paw through; there were piles of boxes that reached up to his waist and clothes on hangers and in piles. Ignoring the boxes, he pawed through the clothes, looking for something relatively normal and at the same time wondering why there was so much shit in this closet.

Out of the crappy shit he pulled a pair of blue jeans, a brown t-shirt with a red Atari controller and the word “GAMER” written on it, tennis shoes, a gray sock and a blue sock, and a pair of boxer shorts. They were relatively free of dust and smelled the least mothbally, so while it was certainly not the best find in the world, it was better than nothing. Michael dressed quickly – he couldn’t help but think there were cameras everywhere in this house. _‘Jeez, I’ve barely been here for an hour and I’m already starting to feel paranoid.’_ Then again, there _had_ been a security camera feed down in the lab…nevertheless, he pulled everything on hastily. The pants were a little too baggy and the shirt a little too tight, but it was still better than the polyester suit. Now that he was dressed, he flopped down onto the bed and sprawled across the faded quilt. “Welcome to the undead, Michael,” he told himself. “Where nothing makes goddamn sense and your only friends are a demon and a fucking lunatic scientist.” With nothing better to do and a series of long days and nights ahead of him, he decided the best course of action would be to sleep on it. Maybe he would feel better in the morning.


	4. Experi-Mental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael gets curious and unearths Ryan’s magnum opus.

After several hours of dark, dreamless sleep, Michael woke up. For a second, he didn’t know where he was or what had happened. Then he remembered: clambering out of his grave, the demon Geoff, Ryan the mad scientist, binding sigils, inky black blood, green and gray eyes, and musty blue jeans. _‘Fuck. I really wanted that to be a dream.’_ He let his head fall back against the patchy quilt, unwilling to get up for the time being.

Eventually he got bored and pushed himself out of bed. The house didn’t seem any less rundown now that it was awash in daylight; rather it seemed even more sad and ruined. Dust motes swarmed in the sunbeams, scattering as the undead walked through them. He supposed if he was still alive he would be sneezing up a storm right now. He walked on and descended the stairs to the living room.

He was surprised to see that the TV was on, though the sound was muted, which would explain why he hadn’t heard anything. It was currently tuned to Cartoon Network and playing an episode of _Adventure Time. ‘Huh. Might watch that later.’_ Some of the piles of papers had shifted, and the cans had multiplied during the night. _‘Guess Mr. Asshole Scientist emerged from his murder cave sometime during the night,’_ he thought. _‘Fucking amazing.’_

Michael rounded the corner leading to the kitchen and was surprised to see Ryan sitting at the table. He was fast asleep, head resting on his upper arm and mouth slightly open. One hand still held a ballpoint pen and the other rested flat upon a pile of sketches. He was snoring softly; with each breath his glasses slid further down his nose. Several cans of Diet Coke were piled around him, and Michael glimpsed several more cans littering the ground around his feet. _‘So much for not being able to sleep. Guess the fuck just couldn’t keep himself awake anymore.’_ He sniffed and nudged one of the cans with his feet. _‘Jesus, this guy must need to piss all the fucking time, with all the fucking Coke he drinks. Not like it did him any good; he’s still out for the count.’_

Without further ado, he kicked the chair Ryan was sitting in. The scientist started awake and nearly fell over; he only just kept himself from crashing to the floor by grabbing the wall. Papers scattered everywhere and his glasses flew off his face and skittered across the table. One can of Diet Coke that was right by his hand was sent flying and hit Michael in the chest, spraying warm, flat Coke all over his shirt.

Ryan pushed himself and the chair back into place and stood up, looking disheveled and disoriented. “Dude…” he groaned, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, “…what the _fuck?”_

“Morning, asshole.” Michael grimaced down at the stain on his shirt. “Have a nice nap?”

The scientist glared blearily at the undead. “I _was_ until…wait a minute, how long have I been asleep?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Michael glanced at the clock above the stove. “It’s 8:15, if that helps anything.”

“Um…I think it was…two o’clock when I came up here? Maybe 2:15? I dunno.” Ryan rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Fuck, was I really asleep for six hours?”

“Man, you probably needed a fucking nap. Nothing to stress over.”

“Hmph.” He bent down and retrieved his papers. Michael caught a glimpse of Da Vinci style anatomy sketches and a whole lot of complicated mathematical equations before the papers were shuffled out of sight. Ryan straightened the papers, put them down on the table and started squinting around the dining room. “Did you see where my glasses went?”

“They’re right in front of you, you blind shit.”

“Where?” Michael pointed down at the table’s end, where the scientist’s glasses were precariously perched. “Oh. _There_ they are. Thanks, I guess.” Ryan rounded the table, picked up his glasses and put them back on. Yawning widely, he ambled into the kitchen, pulled open a cabinet and retrieved a box of Froot Loops. Not bothering to get a bowl or milk, the scientist opened the box and began munching idly.

“Really, Ryan?”

“What?”

Michael shook his head. “Never mind. I’m not gonna be your fucking nanny. Just eat out of the box like a fucking savage, why don’t you.” He wandered into the kitchen as well and, ignoring Ryan’s previously stated rule, pulled open the fridge.    

 _‘Man, Geoff wasn’t kidding when he said this was full of weird shit,’_ Michael thought. His nose wrinkled at the smell of rancid meats and God only knew what else. Food wise, there was a Styrofoam box that was most likely the leftover barbecue Geoff had mentioned last night, a half empty twenty-four pack of Diet Coke, a quart of milk, a packet of lunchmeat that had taken on an unnatural green color, and one lonely carton of eggs. As far as weird science stuff went, that was in plenitude. The blood Geoff had made the kerfuffle over was back behind the leftover barbecue, along with several other test tubes filled with liquids that were thankfully not blood. Two stainless steel boxes occupied the space beside the Diet Coke on the bottom shelf, though thankfully Michael couldn’t see what was inside them. Several paper-wrapped packages took up all the space in the fruit and vegetable drawers, and Michael seriously doubted they contained either vegetables or fruit. Seven conical flasks, one of which was the infamous piss-yellow explosive, dotted both the shelves inside the fridge and on the door. Most disgusting at all, at least in Michael’s opinion, was a jar containing one human eyeball floating in clear liquid; it sat next to the eggs, gazing blankly at the wall of the fridge. “Jesus Christ, Ryan,” he swore, “why do you keep all this stuff in your fridge, man? Nobody wants to see a goddamn eyeball when they want to get a fucking snack! Also, seriously, you literally have no food in here. Buy some fucking groceries before you starve to death. Another thing: you have to be the only person on the face of the planet who drinks Diet Coke. I mean, seriously, Diet fucking Coke? That shit tastes like rotten ass.”

As he had with Geoff before, Ryan started retreating as Michael went through the fridge. Holding the Froot Loops box in front of his face like a shield, he glared at the undead’s back. “I could have sworn I told you not to go through the fridge.”

“Yeah, well, screw you. If I’m gonna live here, I’d like to at least be treated with some fucking courtesy.”

The scientist let out a frustrated huff. “Well, at least _try_ to be careful, then. That shit’s invaluable: losing it’ll set me back at least three months.”

“Yeah, you know what else is invaluable? My fucking comfort.” Michael shut the door and stood up. “Not like there was anything in there, anyway.” Struck by a sudden thought, he leaned against the fridge and crossed his arms. “Ryan?”

The scientist lowered the cereal box. “Yo.”

“Do you think I can eat?”

“I mean, if you’re staying here, you don’t _really_ have to ask…” Ryan’s eyes widened slightly as he realized what Michael had meant. “Oh, right, the undead thing. I have no idea, Michael. Maybe you still need food, maybe you can eat it but don’t need it, and maybe you can’t eat at all. Worst case scenario, I have a stomach pump somewhere in the lab.”

“…All right, now I _really_ don’t want to eat anything.” The undead grimaced and turned away. _‘Man, being dead sucks balls.’_

Both of them were silent for several minutes; Michael was lost in thought, and Ryan was finishing his impromptu breakfast. All was quiet save for the sound of the scientist chewing. The fluorescent light overhead flickered slightly, but unlike most of the other lights in the house it didn’t seem to be in danger of randomly exploding.

Finally, Michael broke the silence. “….Ryan?”

“Yo.”

“Did…were you able to find anything out? About me, I mean?”

Ryan closed the Froot Loops box and set it aside. “I _did_ do some simple tests last night, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“What’d you learn?”

“Not much, really. Your blood’s actually pretty, um, weird.”

The undead’s brow crinkled. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I haven’t been able to really _do_ anything with it. It’s completely immiscible.”

“Can you say that in English?”

The scientist scowled. “It won’t mix with anything.”

“Is that really that weird?”

“Yeah, actually, it is. There’s something else, too, but I’d much rather _show_ you. You gotta _see_ it to really believe it.”

“Then what are we doing here? Fucking show me, dude.”

“Sure.” Ryan pushed himself off the countertop and quickly went through the long routine of opening the door to the lab. Once the retinal scan was complete he threw the door open and ran down the stairs. Michael followed after him, taking the stairs two at a time.

The descent was not so frightening or dark the second time around, and the lab more familiar. There were the multiple tables, the glowing monitors, some bubbling test tubes, and the mysterious ninth table still covered in a white sheet, though, Michael noted, the sheet looked a little more haphazard than it had previously. _‘Must be his big project, then. Whatever the fuck that might be.’_

They walked back over to the table Michael remembered from the night previously, except now there was more science crap heaped on it; he saw a Bunsen burner and test tube, tongs, pipettes, and what looked like welding goggles with magnifying lenses, an LED flashlight and a whole lot of wires and computer chips. Ryan grabbed these and put them on his head. “All right…” He then reached into his pockets, retrieved his PVC gloves and pulled them on. “You see this blood sample?” Grabbing the tongs, he grabbed a glass tube filled with black blood.

“Yeah…”

“Well, watch what happens when I do _this._ ” Ryan pulled the goggles down over his eyes and flipped down a set of dark lenses. Leaning forward, he turned on a Bunsen burner and lit it with a nearby sparker. He put the end of the glass tube into the flame, making sure the open side was pointed away from them. As soon as the flame touched the glass, the blood started bubbling wildly. Seconds later it sparked, ignited, caught fire and shot out of the tube in a hellish burst, but as soon as it touched the air, it evaporated into nothingness.

Michael could only gawp at the spectacle that had just taken place. “What…the fuck…was _that?!”_

Ryan shrugged and turned the burner off. “Like I keep saying, you _are_ undead. And the undead traditionally are weak against fire. So, uh, might want to be careful around, y’know, fire and shit.” He put the smoking tube back in the rack and flipped his eyepieces back up.

“That’s not ‘weak against fire,’ that’s fucking _explosive!_ And you said it was just _weird?!_ That’s goddamn _terrifying!_ ”

“Well, now you know you need to stay away from fire, at any ra-”

At that moment, something in the back let out a cacophonous, shattering roar. Every piece of glassware tinkled and trembled in their holders, and the electric machine juddered and halted its Jacob’s ladder arcs for a second. Michael leaped into the air like a startled cat, tripped over the dentist chair and landed flat on his ass.

Once again, Ryan was unfazed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. “Fuck, it’s 8:37,” he swore. “Breakfast is late.”

Michael pushed himself to his feet, shaking madly. “Breakfast for _what?_ Fucking Godzilla?”

“Nah, just one of my other projects.” Ryan took off his goggles and put them back on the table. “Gotta go. Don’t touch anything. Preferably don’t move, but hey, I’m being realistic. Just…you know, look but don’t touch.” With that he jogged off in the direction of the barred door.

“Yeah, sure…” Michael’s gaze was already straying toward the covered table. He knew, he just _knew_ it had something to do with the project he was having trouble with. As soon as he heard the heavy _thud_ of the door closing, he strode off to investigate the ninth table in the corner of Ryan’s laboratory.

Now that he was alone and all was quiet, Michael thought he could hear the soft _beep_ of a heart-rate monitor coming from beneath the sheet. He reached out, grasped the edge of the sheet and pulled it up just enough so he could bend over and peek beneath it. The beeping was in fact coming from a heart-rate monitor that was plugged into something that was lying on the table. Weirdly enough, this table was covered by a black tarp. _‘So everything’s covered with a sheet, and then the table’s covered by a tarp, too? What the fuck is he trying to hide?’_ Tubes were feeding in and out of the tarp, attached to IV pouches filled with blood and saline solution. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, Michael looked closer at the table.

Lying upon the silver table, covered by the tarp but still clearly distinct, was a human body. Michael edged closer, hesitating at the table’s steel edge. The body lay there, perfectly motionless, dead to the world, yet he still felt the hairs on the back of his arms rising and a tremor start in the region of his stomach. He didn’t really know why; after all, he was dead himself, wasn’t he? And this person wasn’t _really_ dead; the heart-rate monitor was beeping for a reason, right? _‘What the ever-loving fuck is going on here?’_

Then he looked up and saw another machine. This one had two spindly, spire-like arms with two pivot points and rubber handles attached near the ends, each of which was tipped with a steel ball. Both arms were attached to a squat body composed of neatly fused steel plates. It had a large red button and a black dial. If Michael had to guess, it was probably for conducting electricity.

 Electricity that might just be used to revive someone who had died.

 _‘Fuck…I called him Frankenstein for shits and giggles…I didn’t think he was **actually** trying to revive a dead guy!’ _He swallowed and turned his attention back to the body. As it was now, he had no idea who this person had once been, or, for that matter, how Ryan had gotten ahold of them. Had they known each other, or had fate simply dropped the corpse into Ryan’s lap? What had this person been doing the night they died? Was this truly a Frankensteinian creation: an amalgamation of corpses so varied in age and race and sex the end result was a brand new person? Michael supposed there was one way to answer these questions, so he grabbed the edge of the tarp and pulled it back. It whispered softly as it fell to the floor.

A man lay on the table, eyes closed and form limp. He was young, possibly the same age as Michael, or even younger. His hair was tawny-blond and stuck up in messy clumps all over his head, and he had quite a large nose. What caught his attention, however, was the fact that his chest was cut wide open. The skin had been carefully cut, peeled back and pinned into place, revealing his heart, lungs, stomach, liver and intestines. The tubes fed into these organs and the cables to the heart-rate monitor were attached directly to his slowly beating heart. Michael stepped back and put a hand over his mouth. He looked the young man up and down and saw a row of stitches on his face. Horrified, he realized part of his face had been sewn to the rest of his head, and the skin attached by the stitches was a pale green in color, like the stereotypical _Frankenstein._

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Michael?” Michael jumped and spun around. Ryan was standing behind him, arms crossed and face thunderous.

“Jesus, I nearly fucking died again, you asshole! You can’t sneak up on people like that!” Michael regained his composure and returned to the tableside. “What the hell is _this?_ You have a fucking _dead guy_ down here!”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Are you really that surprised? I _am_ a mad scientist. Did you not think I’d be trying my hand at reanimation?”

“Well, maybe, but people don’t usually have access to corpses unless they’re fucking serial killers or something.” A look of horror dawned on his face, and he took a step back. “You didn’t… _kill_ this guy, did you?”

“No.” Michael glared at him. “I’m serious! I didn’t kill him! I, uh, I…bought him. Through the black market.”

“You bought a fucking _dead guy_ on the _black market?_ ”

“Yeah. You can buy anything from anywhere if you know where to look. Also, he’s not really dead.” Ryan walked forward, bent down and pulled the tarp back over the dead guy. “He’s only _mostly_ dead.”

“So still a little bit alive, yeah, yeah, I’ve seen that movie.” Michael moved out from under the sheet, glad to be back in the open – or semi-open, in any case. He shuffled his feet and looked around awkwardly. “So… _this_ is what you’ve been having problems with?”

The scientist ducked out from beneath the sheet and let it drop back down. “Yeah, and thanks to you, I might have a few more hurdles.” He glared sternly at the undead over the tops of his glasses. “Please tell me you didn’t touch anything.”

“Ew! Fuck no!”

“Good. I’ve already had to replace his lungs and liver once and his heart three times. I didn’t want to have to do it again.”

An icy wave washed over Michael, sending shivers down his back and arms. “…Why the hell would you have to replace his organs, exactly?”

“His original lungs and liver were damaged in the accident, and, uh, I’ve, um, accidently fried his heart twice. Voltage was too high.” Ryan looked ashamed at this. “It was a stupid mistake. Cost me my first defibrillator too, and those things are _not_ cheap.”

After _that_ deluge of information, Michael had a hard time deciding which place was the best to start questioning the scientist. “….What accident?” he finally managed to ask.

Ryan walked over to a nearby table and rummaged around through one of the ubiquitous piles of stuff. He retrieved something and promptly tossed it over to Michael. Upon catching it, Michael realized it was a worn pleather wallet. Feeling rather guilty, he flipped it open and saw the green card inside the little plastic sleeve. There was the young man’s face as it had appeared in life; he stared at the camera in a startled fashion, which gave him the appearance of a shocked cockatoo. His eyes had been hazel colored and looked almost too large…or maybe that was just the picture. Michael then turned his attention to the name printed beside the photo.

“Gavin Free,” Ryan said unnecessarily. “He was a British kid living here in the States. About a month ago, he was in a car with a friend when they hit a rough patch, went through the guardrail and fell about two hundred and fifty feet. His friend made it somehow, but Gavin…wasn’t so lucky.”

“That still doesn’t explain how he ended up here with you. Also, he’s been dead for a fucking _month?_ How the hell are you supposed to reanimate something that’s been dead for that long?”

Ryan inclined his head, and his glasses were once again obscured by lens flare. “Not everybody who works in a hospital has the best intentions,” he stated darkly. “After his body was delivered to the morgue, somebody there put him up for sale. Maybe they were always working for the black market, or maybe they just needed money and got desperate. Either way, that’s how I got my hands on him. We met in the back woods about three miles away from here and traded. Cash for corpse. He was all beat up, but still mostly intact. I’ve been trying to reanimate him ever since.”

Michael turned all of this over in his head, feeling even more ill than he had previously. “Is that why all your shit upstairs is in that fridge? Because of Gavin?”

“Yeah. My freezer down here is filled with blood and guts and shit. Have to have replacements just to keep him in this state. Hopefully, when he’s reanimated he won’t need any of that anymore…but it pays to be prepared.”

He nodded, as if that actually made sense. “And what do you mean by ‘mostly intact’?” Then he remembered the line of black stitches on Gavin’s face and the pale green _Frankenstein_ skin so at odds with the rest of his flesh. “You don’t mean…”

“Nobody goes through a crash like that and comes out completely intact,” he explained. “I had to fix him up a bit. Besides the organs, I had to replace most of his right arm, a quarter of his chest, part of his face, his right eye and a chunk of his left leg. I’m sure he’ll function just fine. Positive. Well, almost positive. Mostly positive. Fifty percent.”

For the billionth time that day, Michael just shook his head. “Not to be a fucking wet blanket or anything, but don’t you think you might be wasting your time with this shit?”

The scientist inhaled sharply. “See-that’s-no-I’m so close, though! Every mistake narrows it down just a little bit more: I’m _this_ close” he held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart, “to a true reanimation. I know I can do it; I’ve already got his heart beating and his blood flowing! I just need to figure out how to get his brain working again without frying the rest of his body. I just have to look at my notes again and figure out what’s still wrong, or missing, or whatever.”

They were both silent after that tirade. Finally, Michael spoke up. “Two questions.”

“Yo.”

“One: is there anything I can do to help you?”

Ryan looked taken aback. “…You want to help?”

“Why the fuck not? I’m already too deep in the rabbit hole as it is; might as well go all the way down and get a chance at the fucking magic ‘shrooms.” He looked over at the white sheet. “Besides, if this works, he could be the closest thing to whatever the hell I am on this fucking planet. I could sure as hell use a friend.”

“…he could be an asshole, you know,” Ryan said softly.

“Well, so am I, and so are you. Takes one to know one,” he countered.

“Good point.” Ryan bit his lip and shuffled around awkwardly. “Sorry, but unless you know anything about electricity and the brain, I really don’t think you can help with this.”

“Um…” Michael thought about it. “I think…in life…I might have been an electrician at some point?” Weirdly enough, he was pretty sure that was actually true. _‘Fuck, I was lying out my ass. Was I really an electrician at some point?’_

“What did you work on?”

“…Ceiling fans.”

“Unfortunately, while you might have been good at your job, I really don’t think those skills will be applicable here.” The scientist ran a hand through his hair and quickly changed the subject. “What was your second question?”

“Where the fuck did you get an extra arm and all those extra bits from?”

“Also from the black market.”

“Of course. What was I _thinking?_ You got it from the black market.” Michael turned away from the macabre experiment and began heading back toward the stairs. “Third question, surprise question: can I use your Xbox, or is that also off limits?”

Ryan considered it. “Don’t buy any porn.”

“Fucking got me, dude. I was gonna buy five thousand dollars’ worth of porn on a goddamn Xbox and pretend to jerk off to it because I’m dead and my fucking penis probably doesn’t work. You busted me.”

Now Ryan was the one who looked disgusted. “…Great. Glad to know…that.”

“Fuck off, asshole.” Michael flipped him off and turned away. He glanced down at the wallet and, on impulse, tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he walked away and let the scientist get back to his gristly work.


	5. Free-Animation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Video games are played, and Michael gains not one, but two new sort-of-maybe friends.

Michael spent the rest of that day playing video games. While searching for something to play, he discovered that, like the rest of Ryan’s house, the Xbox was practically empty. There weren't even any demos on there; all he found was one trailer for _Halo: Combat Evolved Anniversary_ from 2011. Thoroughly disappointed with the downloaded library, and feeling far too lazy at that particular moment to browse his limited selection of hard copies, Michael decided to browse the Xbox Live Arcade.

There were thousands of crappy indie games, which in his life would have been prime Rage Quit material, but proved of no interest to him now, so he ignored them. Hundreds of other games were ports from old arcade cabinets and outdated systems; these were the ones he ended up paging through. There was Galaga, three billion versions of Tetris, Castlevania, Contra, Worms…

He paused when his cursor landed on a familiar picture. It was the Xbox Live Arcade cover-art for _Banjo-Kazooie_. The goofy looking bear in yellow shorts made a chill run down Michael’s spine; he suddenly remembered being a kid and being so excited to have the chunky _Banjo-Kazooie_ N64 cartridge in his hands. He remembered being slightly older and waiting for an hour at the Toys ’R’ Us for his copy of _Banjo-Tooie,_ and his excitement when the employee gave him a free Mumbo Jumbo plushie doll, even though he hadn’t preordered the game. He remembered being an adult and doing a Full Play of the game for shits and giggles, and having a ton of fun while doing so. Without even thinking he clicked on the game and brought up the menu. He couldn’t buy it – he never had been able to remember his credit card number, and he had no idea what Ryan’s was – but it did have a trial version, which he promptly downloaded. Minutes later, he lost himself in the world he had so loved when he was a child.

Sometime later, the lights overhead began flickering. Michael glanced up from his game and glared at the light. Was the fucking wiring in the lights going haywire, too? Was _anything_ in this house not complete shit? It stopped after a little while and Michael paid it no heed, instead focusing on getting all the jiggies for the first level of _Banjo-Kazooie._

Then the lights dimmed again, this time almost to the point of darkness. The TV flickered too, and the Xbox’s power button flashed alarmingly. _‘Shit – he’s trying again already? He really doesn't give up.’_ Michael glared angrily in the direction of the lab. _‘Couldn't even give me enough time to finish one lousy game, the inconsiderate fuck.’_

He supposed he couldn't blame the guy, though. To be that close to achieving something great only to have it yanked away time and time again…Michael couldn't even imagine it, or didn't want to imagine it. The experiment seemed doomed to fail, though; Gavin had been dead for weeks now, and maybe Ryan’s machines could breathe some semblance of life into his corpse, but he would most likely remain just that – a corpse. _‘Shame. I sure as hell could use another friend.’_

The lights dimmed one more time before returning to normal. This time they stayed that way, and Michael went back to his game. Not too long after that the demo for _Banjo-Kazooie_ reached its conclusion, so he returned to the menu and got up to see what Ryan’s physical library of games looked like. Of the pitifully few games Michael ended up choosing _Halo 3._ He hadn't played it in a while, and it was long enough to get him through the rest of the day.

When he started the main campaign it was 10:07 in the morning. By the time he got to _Floodgate,_ it was 4:59 in the afternoon. He _might_ have gotten there sooner if it weren't for the fucking Brutes. _‘Stupid assholes. Fucking bullshit.’_ During the course of the campaign the lights hadn’t flickered once, and Michael supposed, in the back of his mind, that Ryan must have given up for the time being and gone back to his notes again. _‘Say what you will about the fuck, but he is determined.’_

The hours flew by as Michael finished _Floodgate, The Ark_ and _The Covenant,_ moving on to the penultimate level of the game. Besides the familiar _Halo 3_ orchestral score, the house was eerily silent. The undead was coming to hate silence: it reminded him far too much of the graveyard where he had been buried. Hell, he’d be happy if that thing from earlier started roaring again, just to know that there was something living down there. Feeling unsettled, he tried to focus on the game.

Eventually, when the clock read 9:03, Michael decided to call it quits for the day. In all the time he’d been playing Ryan had not emerged from his lab once. He was sort of fine with this: creepy scientist could keep to himself for a little while. Yawning widely, he headed upstairs to bed.

The next two days passed much in the same fashion. Ryan worked tirelessly down in his lab, and the power dimmed from time to time, while Michael played Xbox. He finished _Halo 3_ and moved on to _Grand Theft Auto V._ Why Ryan had a copy of _GTA V,_ he couldn't say, but it did provide a good few hours’ worth of entertainment. He took breaks from time to time to explore the rest of the house, though this would only prove Ryan correct: there really wasn't anything else in the house. Several of the other rooms upstairs contained piles upon piles of boxes, though Michael had no idea where the scientist had gotten them, or why. Maybe later he would look through them, but for now he left them alone.

Late in the evening of the third day, while Michael was playing some _GTA_ online (on Ryan’s account), he heard the laboratory door slam open. He looked up and saw Ryan storm into the dining room and throw a pile of papers onto the table. They scattered like so many leaves in the breeze, fluttering and flapping as they fell out of sight. He looked much more disheveled than he had previously – definitely having a hard time, then. “God _dammit!_ Every time I try, it doesn't _work!_ I don’t know what’s wrong! _Fuck!”_ He hit the table, and Michael jumped. This display of emotion seemed quite unusual for the normally placid scientist.

“Having some trouble, then?” Michael tossed the controller aside and stood up. He stretched, feeling his sore bones pop one by one. “You seemed pretty confident before – what the fuck happened?”

Ryan sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. “Nothing I've done works. I've been over the notes again and again, but I don’t know where the mistake is!”

The undead walked over and retrieved one of the papers. It was covered in mathematical equations, which was all Greek to him, so he let it float back down to the floor. He sat down in the chair next to the scientist and looked at him. “You _seriously_ need a fucking break, Ryan. You’re gonna fucking kill yourself at this rate.”

The scientist sighed deeply. “I know I _should,_ but-”

“Don’t you fucking say anything, asshole! You admitted it, therefore we’re gonna fucking take a break if I have to fucking chain you to the couch myself. Who knows? Maybe you’ll have a sudden burst of inspiration or shit.” Michael pushed himself back up and headed back to the TV. “Are there any pizza places around here?”

Ryan looked up. “Um…there _might_ be one outside the neighborhood, but that’s, um, a fifteen minute drive.”

Michael shrugged. “So we fucking order out, dude. It’s _reeeeally_ easy now.”

“That…wasn't really necessary.” He stretched and pushed himself back to his feet. “Also, I don’t know…if I want to have it delivered here.”

The undead rolled his eyes. “I can fucking stand at the gate, you paranoid shit.”

“If you do, can you try to stand in front of the sign?”

“What sign?”

“Um, the one that says, uh, ‘DANGER: This Building is Deemed Unsafe for Human Occupancy.’ That _might_ just give us away.”

“...Please tell me the sign is fake and we’re _not_ sitting in the middle of a condemned building.”

“Yeah, it's fake.”

“Thank God. In that case, can’t I just take it down?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Do you have a set of wire cutters?”

“…Just make the damn call.”

* * *

In retrospect, Michael supposed it had been unwise to order a delicacy like pizza when he could no longer eat. The moment the confused and slightly freaked out delivery guy handed him the box and he smelled that mouthwatering garlicky-cheesy goodness, the longing became unbearable. Cursing his undead fate, he could only watch as Ryan happily opened the box and proceeded to munch away.

After much cajoling, he managed to convince Ryan to take a fifteen minute break. Had he not he suspected the scientist would have hightailed it with the pizza. They sat together on the couch, Michael crossing his arms and trying to ignore the delicious, forbidden pizza. He had _Saturday Night Live_ going on the TV, but neither of them were really watching it.

“You sure you don’t want any?” Ryan asked.

“Not if I can’t fucking digest it.”

“I mean, I still have that stomach pump downstairs.”

“Yeah, cause nothing makes me hungrier than hearing about fucking stomach pumps.”

“Are you, though?”

Michael glanced over at him. “Am I what?”

“Do you actually feel hunger, I mean? You haven’t really complained about it that much.”

“That’s because you haven’t been around me to hear me complain.” Michael thought about it while watching a commercial for some sort of shitty vodka. “I guess not, no.”

“Interesting.”

“Don’t you ever _stop?”_

“Stop what?”

“Stop being a fucking nerd.”

“Why?” Ryan gave him an affronted look. “It’s fun.”

“It’s fun to be a reclusive, creepy shithead?”

“That’s not what I meant. I _like_ what I do. I _love_ the crazy experiments.” His eyes shone wildly behind his glasses, and his cheeks were beginning to turn pink. “I _live_ for creating things, for _doing_ things other people would never dream of.” He reached out and retrieved another slice of pizza. “Maybe it’s not sane for _you,_ but it makes all the sense in the world for _me._ ”

“Whatever. I still think you’re a fucking lunatic.”

He shrugged. “Sadly, I have been called worse.”

“Not surprised, dude.”

“Didn't think you would be.”

* * *

Michael ended up falling asleep on the couch while watching some boring-ass cop drama. Once again, his sleep was dark and dreamless, and when he woke up in darkness he thought he was back in his coffin. Madly pawing at the air, he lost his balance and rolled off the couch with a loud thud. He swore madly and pushed himself off the ground. That was when he realized Ryan was gone; probably back at work trying to revive Gavin. _‘Well, it was fun while it lasted.’_

He wandered into the kitchen and checked the time. _‘5:04…fuck it, I’m going back to sleep.’_ He made his way back to the couch and plopped back down on it. _‘Maybe this time I’ll dream about something other than nothing. That would be great.’_

Unfortunately for Michael, nothing was all he got. At least when he woke up the second time it was sunny outside. The lights were doing the dimming thing again, so he figured Ryan must be back at it. _‘Never gives up.’_

This time, though, the lights dimmed until they were barely aglow and he could hear the desperate hum of a generator losing power. Sparks were beginning to shoot from the filaments of several bulbs. Michael moved cautiously toward the kitchen. The fluorescent light was sputtering fitfully and the panel on the door was blinking madly. He bent down and stared at it. _Power Levels Critical,_ it read. _For safety purposes, door will remain unlocked._ And, sure enough, when Michael pushed on the door, it swung open. Swallowing nervously, he descended into the lab.

All was dark inside the lab, save for its exact center. Here Ryan stood, wearing both goggles and gloves, face set in stone. In each hand he held one of the rubber grips attached to the shock machine’s spidery arms, and the balls tipping each end were pressed against Gavin’s temples. His entire body was jerking wildly: limbs flailed, fists opened and closed, dead white eyes blinked over and over. Blue-white strands of electricity flashed between his skull and the steel balls, sparking madly in the darkness. Trying to ignore the fact that he could see all of Gavin’s organs convulsing, Michael eased closer. An alarm started wailing somewhere nearby; Michael looked and saw the Jacob’s ladder machine’s gauge was nearing the “10%” mark. Still Ryan continued, sweat dripping down his face and onto his collar. This was a man determined not to fail again.

After about a minute of shocks, Ryan finally pulled the steel arms away from Gavin’s head. He twitched and convulsed for a few more seconds before returning to his previous deathly stillness. Ryan’s shoulders sagged. He pushed the shock machine away from him and sat down in a nearby chair. The lights came back on with a whirring hum, but the scientist didn't seem to notice. His disappointment was palpable.

Michael moved toward the table. Gavin lay upon it, still dead to the world. His eyes were still closed and his expression was still peaceful. _‘Just fucking accept it, Ryan, there was no way in hell this was ever going to work. Time to fucking throw in the towel, bro.’_

“…nrgh…five more minutes, Mum…”

Blinking in confusion, Michael looked down at what he had previously taken to be a corpse. However, his brow was now crinkling and he wriggled uncomfortably on the metal table. His eyelids creased, crumpled, and then slowly blinked open. One eye was the hazel Michael had seen in his green card, while the other was a bloody, inhuman red.

“Wot?” Gavin looked around in confusion. “Bloody hell, how much did I have last night?” His voice was surprisingly high pitched, though Michael supposed he should have expected this. Even in his picture he’d looked like a total pansy.

Michael, startled beyond belief, looked over at Ryan. Amazingly, the scientist had no idea what was going on. He was still staring at the floor, elbows resting on his knees and chin resting in his hands. “Um…Ryan?”

Ryan looked over, brow furrowing in confusion. “How did you get down here?”

“Not important, dude! You’re gonna want to see this!”

“See what?”

Meanwhile, Gavin was trying to push himself up off the table. “What the eff is going on here? Where am I? Who are you?” In trying to push himself up, he happened to look down and saw all of his internal organs exposed to the open air. He let out a piercing shriek and promptly fainted.

Ryan ran over and quickly pulled back one of Gavin’s eyelids. While his eye had rolled back into his head, they could clearly see it was bright red and not cloudy white. Ryan released his eyelid and stepped back. He suddenly looked like he was in danger of falling over. “…I did it. I actually did it!”

“I don’t fucking believe it…he’s actually _alive!”_ Michael goggled down at Gavin. Color was starting to leech back into his deathly pale skin, though the green-gray patches remained the same. “But… _how?”_

“Must have been the adrenaline booster I gave him, or maybe the B12 I added to the saline solution. Either way, it _finally_ worked. After all this fucking time.” The scientist beamed in satisfaction and started searching through his pockets. After about a minute he pulled out a spool of thick black surgical thread and a needle. “Just gotta sew him back up and we’ll be good to go.”

“Um…are you gonna, like, I dunno, give him some fucking drugs first so he doesn't wake up while you’re sewing his chest together?” Michael eyed the needle nervously. _He_ didn't like the look of it and he wasn't even the one who had to get sewed back together.

“Probably should…but I don’t know if I _have_ any…and I don’t want to risk killing him again…” Pulling a length of thread from the spool, Ryan threaded the needle and proceeded to start unpinning Gavin’s skin. “Anyway, he’s already unconscious, so I might as _well_ just start already.”

“ _Excellent_ logic there.”

Michael leaned against another table and crossed his arms. He watched as Ryan snapped off the end of the thread and began the tedious task of sewing the other undead’s chest back together. He worked surprisingly quickly, his needle flashing in the light as he stitched the cuts closed. Fifteen minutes later he was halfway done with the shoulder-spanning part of the “T” cut, and he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow before resuming his dreadful task.

Thirty minutes after that, Ryan was finishing up the vertical part of the “T” cut when Gavin moaned and started stirring again. “Um, he’s waking up, dude. Better finish quickly.”

“I’m working on it; I've got to do this _right_ , otherwise the moment he stands up all his bits’ll fall out.”

“Thank you so much for _that_ fucking image,” Michael said sarcastically.

One stitch later Ryan had finished sewing Gavin up; he double-knotted the thread before cutting it with a scalpel he grabbed from a nearby table. Then he tucked the thread and needle back into his pocket and stood back. Just in time, too: Gavin let out a whimper and opened his eyes. “What’s going on here? I don’t know where I am…” He sat up, and Michael saw Ryan tense a bit. The sutures held, and Gavin didn't even seem to notice or remember that his chest had been cut wide open when last he woke.

“Um…hi,” Michael greeted cautiously. Gavin blinked dumbly and looked over at him. “You’re, uh, Gavin, right?”

“Wot? How d’you know that?”

“Uh…this is hard to explain…fuck, Ryan, you do this. He’s _your_ fucking project.”

“Project? What project?”

Ryan stepped forward. “Um, hello. What do you, um, remember, Gavin?”

The reanimated Brit looked stumped. “Uh…I remember havin’ a coupla bevs, and maybe gettin’ in a car…um…bloody hell, my memory’s shot.”

“You were in an accident,” the scientist told him. “The car hit a rough patch while on a curve and it went through the guardrail.”

“Oh…does that mean I’m in a hospital? Are you a doctor?”

“He’s not a fucking doctor, dude,” Michael interjected. “And you are _definitely_ not in a hospital.”

“Then…where am I? What happened? I am so bloody confused!”

Michael looked at Ryan. The scientist’s glasses were doing the creepy thing with the lights and the lens flare again. He turned back to Gavin, who looked more confused than ever. “You died, dude. Totally got fucked up.”

“I’m…I died?” He looked down at his hands and saw the row of stitches connecting the regular half of his forearm to the gray-green half. “What?! What the eff happened to my arm?!” His mismatched eyes searched the rest of his body frantically; he saw the stitches on his chest and stomach and lifted the tarp to examine his legs. “What the bleeding bollocking hell is wrong? Where are my pants? _Why won’t anyone explain what’s goin’ on?!”_     

“Someone at the hospital you ended up in put your body on the black market, and _this_ crazy psycho,” here Michael pointed at Ryan, who looked just a touch insulted, “bought you and put you back together.”

“But…if I’m dead…why am I alive?”

“Because Ryan just shocked you back to life. Welcome back to the living, Frankenstein.”

Ryan cleared his throat. “You know, Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster…”

“Dude, who fucking cares? Point is, you fucking reanimated a dead guy and he’s fucking alive and squealing. Congratulations, you've proven yourself to be an A-plus mad scientist. Whoop-de-fucking-do.”

Gavin looked from Michael to Ryan and back again. “Are you saying he… _created_ me?”

“Nah. Just brought you back.” Ryan looked exceptionally pleased with himself. “Only took a few weeks.”

“It took _how_ long?!”

“Look, Ryan, I know you probably wanna sit here and fucking jerk off to your success, but maybe you should consider that not only did you fucking reanimate a guy who’s been dead for a month, but that guy fucking remembers who he is and is really fucking confused.”

“Can you please explain-”

“Shut up, bitch. I’m not done yet. Anyway, maybe you should give the poor shit a break before, I don’t know, you fucking test on him or whatever.”

The reanimated Brit looked rather dismayed at this. “Tests? What tests? I don’t quite like tests and all….”

“What exactly do you mean, Michael?”

“I mean he probably needs some fucking time to adjust. God knows I didn’t get any when it was _me_ being resurrected. Let him have some time to get used to being alive again, and maybe let him get a pair of fucking pants, too. _Then_ you can test on him.”

“Um…about the testing thing…” Both of them looked at Gavin. He was holding the tarp to his chest and looking nervous. “There won’t be any needles, will there? Can’t stand ‘em.”

Michael glared at Ryan, who had suddenly become very interested in examining a stain on his lapel. “…I don’t think there will be.”

“Well, unless you get a little overexcited…”

“What the eff does _that_ mean?!”

“C’mon, dude,” Michael said quickly. “I’ll fucking help you get some clothes, all right?” He pushed himself off the table and grabbed Gavin’s arm. “I’ll explain what I can along the way.”

Gavin thought about it for a second, then wrapped the tarp closely around himself and swung a leg down from the table. The moment he put weight on it he wobbled and went down with a shrill squawk. “My legs don’t work! My legs is wired wrong!” he screeched.

“You’re fine, Squeaky. You've just been dead for a month; the feeling’ll come back eventually. Right?” Michael looked over at Ryan.

“As soon as the blood gets flowing properly, he’ll be fine. Still, I should probably double check and make sure everything’s hooked up properly.”

“‘Hooked up properly,’” Michael muttered, “he’s a person, not a goddamn computer.” He hauled Gavin to his feet and dragged him toward the stairs. “We’re just gonna go now, Ryan. See you later.”

“Um…okay. I guess I’ll…wait here…or something.”

Michael ignored the scientist’s parting words and focused on dragging Gavin’s dead weight. The reanimated Brit was focused more on holding the tarp securely around himself than he was with walking, plus his legs were pretty much useless, leaving all the work to the undead. He supposed he should be thankful the Brit was so skinny, otherwise he might've had a hard time.

“I know he’s the scientist,” Gavin said as soon as they reached the stairs, “but what does that make you? Are you another project? His assistant?”

“Fuck no, dude. I’m just…well, I just needed a place to stay.” Michael scowled darkly. “I am _not_ a project. Not like-” He cut himself off quickly, hoping the Brit wouldn't realize he’d almost said ‘Not like you.’

Fortunately, Gavin hadn’t noticed. “If you’re not some sciency thing, then what’s wrong with your eyes? They’re all weird and mungy.”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“What, you’ve never had a little munge?”

“I don’t even know what the fuck a ‘munge’ is supposed to be. Is it…bad? Good? Fucking weird?”

Gavin was about to respond, but at that moment they entered the kitchen. Confused by this sudden change of surroundings, he blinked and gawped at the counter tops and flickering light. “What? Where are we _now?_ ”

“What, did you think he only had a lab? He has to live _somewhere,_ Gavin.”

“Yeah, but if he lives here, does he also live in…what?”

“Huh?” Michael stared blankly at Gavin. “Did that electricity scramble your brains or something?”

“I’m…confused.”

“No shit you’re confused.” Shaking his head in earnest, Michael guided the resurrected Brit through the house, up the stairs and into the guestroom where he himself had gotten his things. “Here – just throw something on,” he said and promptly shoved Gavin inside the closet.

“Oi! Lemme out, it’s all dark in here!”

“Put on some goddamn pants first! Nobody wants to see you naked, dude.”

“But…everything’s all dark and grungy. I don’t like it,” he whined back.

“Stop being a baby and just fucking do something. Also, ‘grungy?’ Where the fuck are you getting these words?”

One eternity later, the door finally squeaked open, and one bright red eye peeped around the edge. “Michael, are you still there?”

“Like I would fucking leave you alone in here. You’d probably find a way to kill yourself with a cardboard box or something. And I’m _Michael,_ not ‘Micool.’”

“I _said_ ‘Michael’, Michael.”

“Pretty sure you didn't.”

Hesitantly, the other undead stepped out of the closet. He was wearing a red t-shirt styled like a football jersey and blue jeans. Tugging awkwardly on the hem of the shirt, he shut the door behind him and lurched his way back over to Michael. “Bloody weird, wearing somebody else’s clothes, innit?”

“Tell me about it.”

“You know, then?”

“Yeah, dude. I’m…sort of like you.”

“How d’you mean?”

“…I was dead, too, only I actually ended up getting buried. I woke up in my grave and had to dig myself out. Then I met…well, he was a fucking demon.”

“What? Demon?”

“Yeah, it was weird. Anyway, he brought me here, and I've been here ever since.” Michael shook his head. “Ever since I woke up I've been trying to…to _remember,_ but it’s not coming back to me. I just have bits and pieces. If I can just remember…”

“I remember.”

“Remember what?”

“Well, I don’t remember crashing, but I do remember everything about me. Where I was born, what I did and all that.”

“Lucky bastard.” A sudden thought came to Michael. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the wallet Ryan had given him. “Um…I think this is yours.”

Gavin took it and examined it. “What were you doing with my wallet?!”

“Ryan had it, for some reason. Guess the person who sold your body to him gave it to him, or maybe it was still in your pocket.” Michael frowned. “He never said why he had it, now that I think about it.”

The other undead flipped open the wallet and looked inside of it. His fingers traced the edges of the green card. “S’pose I don’t really look like this anymore, do I?”

“You still look like an asshole, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Gavin gave him a hurt look. “Aw, Michael…”

“Don’t ‘Ah, Micool’ me; it’s totally true. You look like a complete dickhead.”

“No I don’t!”

“Here-” Michael grabbed Gavin’s collar and dragged him into the bathroom. He flipped on the light and after it had flickered into life he pointed at the mirror. “-fucking look. See? Complete. Dickhead.”

Gavin stared at his reflection in horror. “What… _what?_ What’s wrong with me? What happened?” He traced the stitches on his forehead down across his cheek and up over the back of his head.

“You got fucked up in that accident, remember? You were like fucking Humpty Dumpty, except I guess instead of kings and horses a mad scientist with a spool of thread was able to put you back together again.”

The other undead gently prodded his livid red eye. “It’s bloody strange.”

“You think one red eye is strange? Look at _my_ fucking eyes!”

“Right mungy eyes, they are.”

“There you go again with ‘mungy.’ The fuck’s a munge?”

“Well…y’know…”

“No I don’t know. Is it some weird British thing, or did you just make it up?”

“No.”

“Jesus, you’re impossible. I’m starting to wonder why Ryan bothered reviving you.” Michael stormed out of the bathroom and headed for the door.

“Hey – wait for me, Michael!” Gavin stumbled after him and almost sent the undead crashing down the stairs. “Don’t leave me here!”

“Gavin, you almost fucking broke my neck! Be more careful, man, I've already died once and I really don’t want to experience that again.”

“Sorry, Michael. My legs still aren't working right.”

Together they walked back into the living room. Now that he was dressed, Gavin was straying off and examining _everything._ He picked a pile of papers up off the coffee table and examined them, dropped them to look at the Xbox and TV, bounced away to pick at the window blinds, and then stooped to look under the table. _‘So much for his legs not working,’_ Michael thought, then said, “Dude, you probably shouldn't touch anything. Ryan doesn't like it when you mess with his stuff.”

“Not messing with anything, am I?” Gavin traipsed over to the kitchen and picked up a pristine coffeepot. “For a house that’s complete crap, he’s got some nice things.”

“He’s a fucking mad scientist, what did you expect?”

“Why’s his house so crap, anyway? He poor or something?”

“I don’t fucking know – I just got here! Maybe he just likes it. Maybe he’s hiding. Maybe he’s got a fucking haunted house fetish.” He leaned against the counter, frowning sternly at Gavin. “I thought I said Ryan didn't like it when you messed with his stuff.”

“Still not messing, is it? I’m just _looking_.”

“Maybe it’s different in Britain or whatever, but over _here_ we don’t usually look with our fucking hands!” Michael reached out and yanked the coffeepot away. “Now fucking leave that before you break something and get us both in trouble.”

“I’m not gonna get us in trouble!”

“Then don’t fucking mess with anything!”

“I’m not messing with anything!”

“Tell that to the pile of fucking papers you threw on the ground!”

“Those were already there!”

“No they weren't!”

“Yeah!”

“You’re a fucking mong, you know that?”

“Michael, why’re you being so mean to me?”

“Because you’re being stupid!”

“How am I being stupid? Tell me _that_ , then!”

“You just – you just – you just _are!_ ”

Michael huffed and turned away, crossing his arms. He heard Gavin start to fumble his way around the kitchen, and then a musical tinkle followed by a not so musical _SMASH._ He whirled around and saw Gavin standing shamefacedly next to a pile of broken crockery.

“Whoops. Sorry, Michael.”

“GODDAMMIT GAVIN!”


	6. Interfishion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff meets with an old friend. Unfortunately, he’s got bad news.

It was dark in the bogs when Geoff arrived. Frogs croaked loudly as he stepped over peat moss and rotten logs, nose wrinkling. Mud squelched beneath his feet and he swore angrily. “Fucking bullshit swamp monster motherfucking horseshit. Why do they have to live in fucking bogs or fucking swamps, I don’t know. Fucking modernize, assholes. It's only fucking 2014 already.”

Holding out a hand he conjured a blue ball of fire and threw it out over the bog. It sailed out over the murky waters, dancing like a will o’ the wisp over lily pads and algae. The fireball came to a rest at the foot of a tall sign proclaiming the bog as the _Future Site of the Maple Leaf Apartment Complex! Coming in Fall 2015._ Geoff sighed deeply. Another soulless apartment complex. While, as a demon, he could appreciate soullessness, there just wasn’t enough ooze and goop in the mortal world anymore, and that _any_ demon could lament. Although, he thought bitterly, it could do well enough to stay away from him. He beckoned to the fireball, and it followed after him as he continued through the bog.

Stopping by a likely swath of glop, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Jack! JACK! Are you there? It’s Geoff! I have to talk to you! Fucking come here!”

Several minutes passed and nothing happened. Geoff waited on the bank of the bog, tail flicking anxiously. A bubble glorped to the surface of the bog, followed by another, then another, and then a stream of bubbles started moving toward the bank. The demon crossed his arms and watched the bubbles approach. They streamed quickly toward him and stopped about three feet away from the bank. Several more popped to the surface, and then two brown eyes blinked solemnly up at Geoff from the muck.

“Good evening, Geoffrey.”

Geoff crouched down. “Hi, Jack.”

“What brings you to this neck of the woods? Especially in the middle of the night; that seems a little weird for you, man. Don’t you have deals to do?”

“Yeah…they can wait. Besides, I heard the news about the bog.”

Jack’s eyes vanished for a moment, and then there was a sudden breaking of the surface as he hauled himself out of the water. Weeds and reeds trailed from his body in a long green train, interwoven with lily flowers and wiry moss. It was just like a swamp monster, Geoff thought, to drape himself in stinking weeds and glop. The only parts of his body that could be glimpsed through the mess of plant life were his eyes and two large scaly green fins on either side of his head. He squelched his way toward Geoff and stood beside him. “It’s pretty shitty, isn’t it? All of this,” he gestured around at the surrounding vegetation, “gone in just a few months.”

“Uh…that’s what I’m here to talk to you about.”

Jack looked at him, brushing some of his weeds aside. “What is it?”

“They’re, uh, they’re gonna start draining the bog first thing in the morning. All the water will be gone by the end of the week.”

Alarm flashed in the swamp monster’s eyes. “But… _why?_ Construction’s not gonna start for another two months!”

“It’s the peat moss, dude. Pretty valuable shit. They’re gonna get all that out first before they start leveling this place for construction.” Geoff’s tail flicked once and he put his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to come warn you. I know you don’t exactly keep up with current events anymore.”

The swamp monster visibly deflated. “Aw…they’re gonna destroy this place. I _liked_ it here.” He stretched out a hand, and a nearby moth fluttered onto one of the lilies on the back of his hand. “It was nice. I wasn’t bothering anybody.” He slowly lowered his hand, and the moth lazily flew away. “Bye, Mr. Moth.”

“Progress stops for no man. Or monster.”

“I mean, I _suppose,_ but…” Jack looked up at the sky. His fins were quivering slightly. “Where the hell am I supposed to go? There aren’t many swamps or bogs left around here, and I can’t exactly live in a fucking pool.”

“Why’re you asking me? I make deals, man, I don’t do real estate shit.” When the swamp monster gave him a hurt look, he relented slightly. “…I know you’re gonna be high and dry – literally – when they start sucking the water out of this place, but I seriously have no fucking clue where you can go. There really isn’t that much swampland left. I mean, I suppose you could go to Louisiana-”

He vigorously shook his head. His trailing weeds nearly slapped Geoff in the face. “No thank you!”

“I’m just listing options, man. It’s either that or you’re fucking fish jerky.”

Jack sat down on the bank and let his feet drop into the water. “Maybe I could find some place in Austin. They might have something nice down there: I hear they’re pretty okay with, well, everything.”

“God knows they put up with Ryan.”

“How is Ryan, anyway? Still-”

“Still fucking creepy, dude.” Geoff paused, his tail flicking to and fro and his flame pulsing slightly. “I, uh, had to leave something of mine with him, and I’m not sure he appreciated it very much.”

“Why? Was it a hell-hound? I’ve told you before, I’ll do my best to look after them if you don’t-”

“No it wasn’t a fucking hell-hound! Anyway, Ryan would be fucking _overjoyed_ if I dropped one of those bitches off at his house. He’d love to experiment on a hell-hound. Joke would be on him in any case: a mortal like him would need a fire-proof suit just to get _near_ a hell-hound. That’s beside the point, though. I didn’t drop off any sort of hell-fiend at Ryan’s house.” He crouched down next to Jack, unwilling to let his ass touch the slimy ground. He nervously licked his lips with a forked tongue. “I resurrected someone,” he finally said.

Jack looked at him in shock. “What? But you haven’t managed to bring _anyone_ back _ever!”_

“Thanks for pointing that out, dickhead. But yeah, I did it. Took me a week, but I did it.”

“Congratulations, man.” The swamp monster dipped one of his fingers in the water and started making ripples. “Who’d you bring back?”

“The Rage Quit guy from YouTube.”

“Can’t say why?”

“Can’t say why.”

“How is he?”

“Last time I saw him he was really fucking angry, really fucking confused, and really fucking scared. He doesn’t remember who he is and he has no fucking idea what’s going on.”

“That doesn’t sound right. Did you mess up the resurrection?”

“No-that’s-I-it was my first time!”

Jack _tsked._ “You fucked up, man.”

“I know, I know.” Geoff stood up and looked around the bog. “I fucked up. Hopefully it’ll all straighten out.”

“Tell _him_ that. He’s the one who has to deal with being dead and alive at the same time. Plus he has to figure all this shit out by himself.”

“He’s got Ryan!”

“Does he really? Ryan’s a good guy-”

“Said no sane man _ever_.”

“-but you know he gets wrapped up in his work. He might not have enough time for your guy.”

“I’ve already told him if anything happens to Michael, I’ll fucking scorch his ass.”

“ _That’s_ what’ll get him motivated! Baseless threats!”

“Who says they’re baseless?! I could _totally_ fry his ass!”

“ _Would_ you though?”

Geoff sighed. “No. I _would_ probably curse him, though. Maybe a tongue twisting curse. I _love_ those things! Just think about it: Ryan stumbling over every fucking word that comes out of his mouth. He’d look like such a fucking idiot! I wouldn’t stop laughing until the middle of next year.”

“That’s all well and good, but what about Michael?”

“I’ve already said he’ll be fine. He gets to be fucking _immortal_. How kickass is that?”

“Is it really immortality, though?”

“I think so. Well, there’s always fire, of course, but the chances of a house burning down nowadays are a million to-”

“What about the chance of Ryan’s house burning down?”

Geoff stopped midsentence. His red and black eyes widened in horror while his blue flame dimmed to dull purple. “…I’d better go check on them.”

“Do you have time to do that?”

“Aw, I don’t have anything to do that I can’t put off.” Geoff waved his clawed hand dismissively.

“And I’m _sure_ your bosses will be _thrilled_ to hear you’ve been slacking again.”

“They can go suck a giant dick. This shit’s _important._ ” The demon looked back down at the swamp monster. “Now you fucking haul ass as soon as dawn comes, you hear me? Don’t stay for _anything._ Find _somewhere_ to stay, Jack. If you fucking die, I will kick your scaly ass up and down Hell for all eternity. Also, you might want to find some pants or something; no knowing where you're gonna have to go to find a new home, and last I checked, most people aren't too fond of weed-covered fish.”

“I hear you.” Jack slid back into the bog and began wading away. “All right, I’ll make my way out of here as soon as dawn comes. I have no idea where the fuck I’ll go, but I’ll get outta Dodge.”

“Do what you said earlier, dude: go down to Austin. Maybe you can find, I dunno, like an abandoned fishery or something.”

“An abandoned fishery. In Austin.”

“Weirder things have happened. Push comes to shove, I’ll see if I can get Ryan to do something for you. God knows he needs a distraction from his project.”

“He still on that reanimation shit, then?”

“You know it.”

“I dunno, man, he could be on to something.”

“Nah, he’s a fucking lunatic.”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t think so. Ryan may be sorta weird, but he’s not _totally_ crazy.”

“Now I want to take you down there just so I can show you Exhibits A through Z of why you are fucking wrong and lying to yourself. The guy is completely nuts.”

Jack shrugged amiably. “Just saying, maybe you’ve got him all wrong.” He ducked below the surface of the water until, once again, only his eyes were visible. Looking over at Geoff, he waved one plant-covered hand before disappearing back into the bog.

“Remember to fucking hightail it, Jack!” Geoff yelled. “I know you aren’t exactly the _fastest_ swamp monster in creation, but at least _try_ to get out!” Knowing that the swamp monster heard his parting words, Geoff started back to leave the bog. He paused a moment next to the sign, and, in a rare moment of ire, flicked his finger at it. His fireball zoomed forward, crashed into it and promptly turned into a blazing inferno. After that he felt a little bit better, so he took a step, entered the nether path and vanished.

Time to go pay a visit to a certain mad scientist.


	7. Getting Testy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Gavin attempt to bond over broken crockery, mad science, and video games.

Gavin stared down at the pile of broken dishes between his feet. Slowly he backed away, doing his best to look nonchalant. “I didn’t mean to, Michael, you know I didn’t mean to. I just effed it up.”

“Didn’t I _just_ fucking tell you _not_ to touch anything?! Now look what you’ve done! There’s broken shit _everywhere!_ Ryan’s going to fucking kill us both now, you asshole!”

As if on cue, they heard footsteps coming from the entrance of the lab as Ryan ran up the staircase. Gavin let out a squeal of fear and tried to run away, but Michael grabbed him around the middle. “Oh no you don’t, bitch! I am _not_ taking the rap for this!”

“Michael! _Michael!_ He’s gonna kill me, Michael! C’mon, Michael, let me go!” The other undead wriggled madly, trying to escape to safety, wherever that may be.

“Not! A! Fucking! _Chance! Bitch!_ ”

Squabbling madly, the two grappling undead fell to the ground; Gavin fought to get free while Michael fought to keep him there. Unfortunately for Michael, he fell right on top of the broken dishes. Shards of glass scratched at his back, but he clung onto Gavin, determined for the fuck to face what he’d done.

The door to the lab swung open at that moment and Ryan ran into the kitchen. He stopped when he saw the grappling duo. “Um…am I…interrupting?”

“One…second!” Michael struggled to get up while also keeping a hold of Gavin. “All right, you fuck, tell him what you fucking did!”

Ryan, however, had looked down and saw the mess of broken dishes on the floor. “What the fuck _happened?_ ”

“Fucking Gavin happened. He was fucking messing with _everything_ and-”

Gavin finally managed to free himself from Michael and backed away from him. “I didn’t _mean_ it! I was just-”

“You were just fucking _touching_ everything, and you fucking made a goddamn mess! There are fucking _dogs_ better trained than you, Frankenstein!”

“Michael…”

“Don’t ‘Micool’ me, you fuck!”

“Guys, guys, cut it out!” Ryan threw out his hands, and the pair quieted. “All right, Gavin, I _get_ you’re still figuring out how to move and shit, but did you _really_ have to start playing with my dishes? Shit’s not exactly cheap, dude.”

“I _wasn’t_ playing,” Gavin whined.

“Then what _were_ you doing?”

“…I dunno, just getting to know the place! Then bloody Michael started getting on my case-”

“Getting on your case?! I was fucking trying to keep you from messing up the house, man! You’re, like, a fucking disaster on legs.”

“Aw…piss off.”

“The fuck did you say to me?”

“Enough! They’re just fucking dishes, okay? Just. Stop. Fighting.” Ryan sounded about a thousand percent done. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, guys.”

“He started it,” Michael mumbled under his breath.

“Good God, just let it go already.” Ryan put his glasses back on and moved back toward the door to the lab. “You better clean this shit up, Gavin.”

“Aw, Ryan-”

“Just do it.”

“You gonna give me a broom or summat?”

“There’s a vacuum cleaner in the closet in the hallway. Just get it cleaned up.” The scientist turned and went back down into his lab, slamming the door behind him.

“He’s all in a tiff, isn’t he?” Gavin commented.

“Probably because you broke an _entire stack of fucking dishes._ ” Michael headed off for the foyer, leaving Gavin to stare at the mess. He retrieved the squat shoulder vac from the closet, walked back to the kitchen and proceeded to throw it at Gavin. The other undead squeaked and caught it, wobbling precariously as he did so. “Here – fucking have at it, dude.”

“Michael, you almost killed me!”

“It’s a fucking vacuum cleaner, Gavin, it won’t hurt you.”

“It will if you throw it at me, you lunatic!”

“Shut up and fucking clean up your fucking mess, you prick!”

Michael watched as the other undead finally started cleaning up the dishes. Five dishes’ worth of shards were slowly and haphazardly vacuumed up. When the undead was satisfied he yanked the vacuum away and stormed off to put it up. “Are you fucking _done_ now?” he asked when he returned.

“You know I-”

“No, are you fucking done being an asshole?”

“Yeah, yeah, now shove off.”

Michael scowled and walked past Gavin. He banged on the door to the lab and shouted, “Ryan! He’s fucking done! D’you want to do your fucking tests now?”

“Tests?! Michael, don’t let him test on me!”

There was a soft _shunk_ and the door swung open. Michael grabbed Gavin’s collar and yanked him toward the staircase. “C’mon, you fuck, do you want to learn more about yourself, or do you want to just fucking break stuff like a goddamn nutcase?”

“I know bloody well who I am!”

“That’s not what I meant, Gavin. You’re a walking pile of fucking body parts, dude; maybe you should learn how to fucking function like a normal human being.”

Keeping a firm grip on Gavin’s collar, Michael forced him to enter the lab, where Ryan was busy working on one of his many machines. He had his goggles on and his LED light was shining brightly as he tugged on the long, spindly wires. As soon as they entered the lab he turned around and fixed them with a stern glare.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let him break your shit.” Michael shoved Gavin away from him; the other undead stumbled and nearly fell over, but managed to regain his balance. “Here you fucking go.” The undead YouTuber walked over to a nearby table and leaned against it, crossing his arms and legs and glowering at Gavin.

“Michael… _Michael…_ Michael, you can’t let him do anything to me, Michael…” Gavin looked nervously at Ryan. The normal half of his face had gone very pale. He backed slowly away from the scientist, shivering madly. “…You know I didn’t mean anything, Michael.”

“Dude, he’s not gonna fucking do anything to you. You’re his fucking pet project; he’s not gonna throw away fucking weeks of work just to punish you. Chill out, man.”

Gavin relaxed ever so slightly. “You think so, Michael?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, retard. Fucking ask Ryan.”

The other undead turned to the scientist, who was wrapping up his work with the machine. “You’re not gonna do anything…weird?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘weird,’ I guess. I was just gonna see if your limbs were working properly and check your vitals. I mean, if you… _want_ weird shit…” He flipped a metal panel closed and looked over at Gavin. “I can accommodate.”

“….Think I’m good, thanks.”

“Really? Lame,” the scientist teased. “All right, be right back.” Ryan ushered him over to a nearby chair before running off to retrieve his tools.

“So bloody strange, isn’t he?” Gavin commented.

“Comes with the fucking job description, doesn’t it?”

“What job description?”

“What part of ‘mad scientist’ don’t you fucking get? He’s not exactly gonna be all sunshine and fucking rainbows. He was perfectly willing to sew your ass together, after all, and lemme tell you, that was fucking _disgusting_ to watch.” Michael grimaced at the memory. “He’s _supposed_ to be weird.”

The other undead leaned back in the chair. “Could do well without it though. Bloody mental.”

By this time, Ryan had returned with the red toolbox filled with all his medical stuff and proceeded to examine Gavin. “Give me your right arm.”

“What? Why?”

“Just want to see if the joint’s working all right.”

“Joint? Like a fag?”

Both Michael and Ryan were supremely offended by this question. “What?! No! What the hell are you talking about? I want to make sure your elbow’s working!” The scientist reached out and grabbed Gavin’s upper arm with one hand and his lower arm with the other.

“Oh, _that_ kind of joint.”

Michael shook his head. “You fucking moron.”

“S’an honest mistake, Michael.”

“Getting your elbow and a cigarette confused is not an honest mistake; it’s fucking stupid. I seriously think that electricity fried something in your brain.”

Ryan frowned upon hearing this. “It’s possible. Could’ve screwed something up.”

“What? My brain’s fine. Honest.”

“How the fuck would you know this?”

“Well, I’m still moving, right?”

“You’ve been using me as a crutch since you first woke up, and there’s also the fact you broke an entire stack of dishes just because you fucking touched them!”

“I keep tellin’ you that wasn’t my fault! I just wanted to _see-_ ”

“YOU DON’T FUCKING _LOOK_ WITH YOUR HANDS, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT!”

“…He does have a point,” the scientist agreed.

Defense rejected, the sewn-together undead leaned back in his chair and sulked. Ryan finished checking Gavin’s elbow and, seemingly satisfied, leaned down to check his left leg. “You still having trouble walking?”

“S’getting better. Feelin’ a bit less mullered.”

“Feeling a bit…huh? What does that even _mean?_ ”

“Means I’m not so knackered now, dunnit?”

 “It’s dumb British shit, Ryan. Just ignore him.”

“Michael…”

“Will you stop saying my name?!”

“Can’t you just listen to me?”

“Not until you start speaking English!”

“It _is_ English, you bloody dope!”

“Jesus, don’t you two _ever_ stop fighting?” Ryan pulled his goggles down and flipped his LED light back on. “You’re like some fucking old married couple.”

“What the hell are you implying, Ryan?”

“Nothing. Just making an observation.” He shone the light in Gavin’s eyes, watching his pupils adjust. “You seeing all right?”

“Yeah. My eyes are bloody weird, though.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

He blinked and started rubbing at his face. “Can you get that out my face, please?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a second…” Ryan switched the light off and stood up. “As far as your body goes, you seem okay, at least for the time being. I _will_ say this, though, and Michael,” he looked sternly over at the undead, “you need to listen too.” He turned back to Gavin. “You might be walking around again, but you’re held together by freaking thread. One wrong move and you’ll come undone.”

“Why’re you telling _me_ this?” Michael asked.

“Because when you inevitably start beating the shit out of him, I don’t want you to hit him too hard. I brought him back once. I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“What?” Gavin looked fearfully at Michael. “You’re not going to hit me…are you, Michael?”

“Not unless you fucking deserve it, bitch.”

“ _Michael!_ ”

“Guys, c’mon, I just need, like, _five_ more minutes. Then you can squabble all you want.” Ryan pulled his stethoscope out of his box. “Gotta check your heart rate and shit. Make sure you’re functioning.” He placed the diaphragm on Gavin’s chest and listened. “It’s slow, but it’s definitely there.”

“Is that bad?”

“It being slow? Not really. It’s only a little bit slow.”

“His heart or his head?” Michael joked.

Gavin gave him a hurt puppy-dog stare. “Michael…”

“It was a fucking joke, dude.”

Ryan just shook his head and checked Gavin’s pulse. “Also a bit slow, but still there.” On impulse, he checked the pulse of his patchwork arm. “Hmm…no pulse here, though. But you can still use this arm, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Interesting.” The scientist made a note on a nearby sheet of paper. “Probably want to be careful with that arm, then.” He put his stethoscope away and closed his toolbox. “All right. You’re good, man. If you want to leave, you’re free to go.”

Gavin leaped up. “Bye, Ryan.” He turned to Michael. “Michael, let’s be friends.”

Michael gave Gavin a scathing look. “Why?”

“I just think we have a lot in common, Michael.”

“Not really.”

“We’re both undead, yeah?”

“ _I’m_ undead. _You’re_ fucking Frankenstein, dude. You’ve got a heartbeat and a pulse and shit. I’m _literally_ a dead man walking. All I can do that’s normal is sleep. That’s it. I can’t drink, I can’t eat…it fucking sucks. Unless you can’t do that either, we have almost _nothing_ in common.” He turned away and started heading up the stairs. _‘This is so goddamn unfair.’_

“Wait up, Michael!” Gavin moved to follow him. He was much better coordinated now, though still a little clumsy. “Maybe all that’s true and all, but we can still be friends, right?”

“Be less annoying first.”

“Aw, Michael.”

“Can you stop saying my name every four fucking seconds, Gavin? I’m _glad_ you know what it is, but seriously, it’s getting on my nerves.” He slammed his hand down on the big red button and pulled the door open. Having stormed through the house, he flung himself down on the couch. Gavin carefully edged around the coffee table and sat down next to him.

They sat in silence for a good while. Finally, Gavin turned his attention to the Xbox. “Is that Ryan’s?”

“No, it’s a rental.”

“Is it?”

“Of _course_ it’s Ryan’s, you fucking moron! Why wouldn’t it be?”

“We allowed to play it?”

“Knock yourself out, dude.”

The other undead jumped up and ran over to the Xbox. Seconds later he’d leaped back onto the couch and settled down. For the first time since his resurrection, he had a huge grin on his face. It made him look a lot like a little kid, albeit a little kid with a Frankensteinian patchwork face and mismatched eyes.

Michael glanced over at him and felt a little bit bad all of a sudden. True, the Brit was an ass, but they were really in the same boat. Both of them had died horribly, both of them had woken up in a strange new location, and both of them had basically been forcibly taken in by Ryan. _‘And hell, like I said before, I’m a fucking asshole too. Takes one to know one. Might as well make some peace.’_

“Gavin…” The sewn-together undead looked up. “We can _try_ to be friends, but I swear to God, I will fucking pummel your ass if you do _anything_ like what you did today again, all right?”

“That was one time, Michael. Won’t happen again.” Gavin booted up _GTA V_ and waited for the game to load. “Ryan plays _GTA V?_ ”

“Obviously, idiot, or he wouldn’t have it. _I’m_ the one who’s been playing lately, though. He was busy bringing you back.”

Gavin thought about this for a second. “Did…did you see me, Michael?”

“Did I see you…?”

“Before I was un-deaded.”

“Oh. Yeah, I did.”

“How did…how did I look?”

“Like a fucking corpse. What did you expect? You weren’t exactly Sleeping Beauty, dude.”

“Was I gross?”

Michael snorted. “Don’t you _remember?_ Your fucking chest was cut wide open! Your organs were just hanging out like no big deal! They had tubes sticking out of them and shit; it was fucking disturbing as hell!”

The Brit turned sheet white. Turning his head he suppressed a gag with his sleeve. “…I don’t want to know, Michael! I just don’t want to know.” The game had booted up by this point, so Gavin turned his attention to it. “Don’t think I’ve ever played this game before,” he commented.

“I hadn’t either. Fucking got some hours in it now, though.”

“Really? How long did you play it for?”

“No idea. Started about…two days ago, maybe? Finished part of the campaign but I was more interested in the multiplayer shit. Think I spent about fourteen hours doing that. I mean, I have nothing else to do, Gavin, so I might as well just play games all day.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad, actually.”

“You _would_ think that, dipshit.”

“Don’t swear at me, Michael.” Gavin spawned into a game and began running around. “What d’you do in this game?”

“It’s _Grand Theft Auto,_ Gavin. You fucking steal cars and shit.”

“Is that it?”

“You can play missions and stuff, but you gotta get in a lobby first, and that fucking takes forever. If that’s too boring, then there’s always single player.”

“Nah, think I’ll stay in here. More interesting.” Gavin paused the game to look at the map, but got distracted by the name next to the character’s picture. “What the eff is ‘BM Vagabond’?”

“It’s Ryan’s fucking gamertag.”

“What’s ‘BM’ stand for?”

“Go ask Ryan if you’re so curious. I don’t fucking know. It could stand for _anything._ ”

“You think it stands for ‘Been Mullered’?”

“I seriously don’t think Ryan would use a fucking nonsense British word in his gamertag. Some weird science shit, maybe, but not gibberish.”

“It could be.”

“Seeing as he had no idea what it meant when you said it earlier, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say it doesn’t stand for that.”

“I’m just saying it could be.” Gavin unpaused the game and resumed running. “There isn’t anything over here, Michael.”

“You need to get a freaking car, Gavin. You’re going nowhere fast.”

“Hold on…” Gavin directed his character to run into the middle of the street. Seconds later, he was promptly run over by an NPC in a purple sedan. “Oh! Well, I’m taking this, you bastard!” He walked his character up to the car and proceeded to punch it. “Which button is steal? Is it B?”

“B is fucking punch, dude. Hit Y to steal it.”

“Okay then.” As soon as Gavin’s avatar had gotten into the car, the NPC pulled out a gun and shot him once in the head. The screen went black and white as the message ‘WASTED’ flashed onscreen. “What?! What was that? What happened?”

“The fucking NPC shot you to death!”

“That’s…that’s unfair!”

“Happens, brah. Just gotta keep going.” Glowering at the game, Gavin nevertheless continued on. This time he decided to try one of the missions out. Entering a nearby point on the ground, the mission lobby pulled up. “Deathmatch,” Michael commented. “All you do is shoot people in this one.”

“Do I get special guns?”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, like a bazooka! Always liked bazooka.”

“There isn’t a bazooka in this game, Gavin. There’s a rocket launcher, but you have to be a certain level to unlock it, and I’m not that far yet.”

“Aw, I wanted a bazooka.” Gavin’s face fell slightly at the lack of explosive weapons.

“Should still be fun. Who knows? Maybe you’ll fucking love it.”

Michael then watched ten minutes of Gavin getting his ass handed to him by every other player in the lobby. Every time the poor fuck spawned somebody popped a bullet in his head, and by the end of the match, Gavin had two kills to his name, while the match’s winner had sixteen. It probably had something to do with him having no idea how to play the game, but Michael still couldn’t believe it. “Jesus Christ, what the hell was _that?_ ”

“I don’t bloody know how to play, Michael!”

“You don’t even _need_ to know how to play; you literally just point your gun and shoot! Are your fingers not working or something? Do we need Ryan to see if he can rewire your hands to make you less shitty?”

“I was _trying_ to shoot, Michael! Do you know what the problem was: every single bleeding person was shooting me!”

“So shoot back, Gavin! It’s not that hard!”

“I’m gonna play something else,” he grumbled.

“Just hit refresh instead of replay. It’ll bring up some new options.”

“Nah, I’m gonna go back to that other mode.”

“To Free Roam? Fucking go for it, dude.” Michael leaned back and watched as Gavin’s character spawned on a dirt road in the middle of the slums.

“Aw, where am I now?” He ran around until he found a dirt bike. “Sweet! I’ll be having that.”

“Congrats, dude. You stole a dirt bike.”

“There planes in this game?”

“Yeah, at the airport.” Michael looked over at the sewn-together undead. “Are you seriously going to try flying when you can barely drive or shoot?”

“Flying’s easy, Michael.”

“Not in this game it isn’t.”

Still, Gavin was determined to fly a plane. He directed his character to airport and spent the next ten minutes or so driving along on his shitty green dirt bike. Twice during the trip he ran into another car and went sailing, and by the time he finally reached the airport’s gate his bike was emitting thick black smoke.

“This is it, Michael!” he squealed. “I’m gonna fly a plane!”

“Good, cause you sure as hell can’t ride a motorcycle.”

Gavin ignored him and did the stunt jump to enter the runway. He actually landed it, which surprised Michael greatly. He drove past the first hangar and spawned a sleek black Luxor. “A jet! I’m all about it. All about the jets.” He slammed his thumb down on the Y button and his character leaped from the bike and crashed headfirst into the Luxor’s landing gear, wiping out half his health.

“If you move like this in the game, I hate to think how you move in real life.”

“It’s fine, Michael, see? I’m all right.” Gavin directed his character into the cockpit of the plane and began bouncing up and down excitedly. “Time to take to the sky!”

“It’s the bumpers and triggers to fly, okay? Just know that before you fucking blow yourself up.”

Literally moments after Michael had said this, Gavin’s jet slammed into a luggage cart and immediately exploded. He had only gotten about ten feet off the ground. “WHAT?” he shrieked. “What the flipping hell was that doing there?!”

The undead blinked for a second before busting out laughing. “You fucking _moron!_ I literally just _told_ you the controls, and you just…fuck, it happened so fucking fast! I said it and you just _died!_ ” Michael fell back against the couch, laughing so hard his ribs started hurting. It was the first time he’d really laughed in his unlife. He reached up to wipe tears from his eyes, and found to his surprise that there were actually tears in his eyes. _‘So I can’t eat or drink, but I can fucking cry. Great.’_

Still, he supposed it was a very, very, very, _very_ mild improvement over the previous situation. Ryan sure as hell hadn't made him laugh like this. “You know what?” He looked over at Gavin. “You’re kind of all right.”

Gavin, who’d been looking quite upset over the loss of the jet and Michael’s laughing fit, smiled a little bit. “Thanks, Michael.”


	8. Geoffing It Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff checks on Ryan and Michael, and is not at all satisfied with how Ryan is taking care of things.

Michael and Gavin were starting to get restless. It had been a full week since Geoff had dropped Michael off at Ryan’s lab – three days since Gavin’s reanimation – and neither of them had left the house since then. Being undead, they could not leave during the daylight hours, or they risked exposing themselves for what they truly were. Games could only provide so much relief from the cabin fever that was starting to settle in.

Chafing under the confinement, tired of the same routine day in and day out, the undead YouTuber’s fuse steadily grew shorter and shorter. Gavin was starting to become insufferably whiny as the days in confinement dragged on and on. Every little idiotic, irritating, whingeing little comment just stripped away more and more of the patience Michael already didn't have. If he had to endure it just _one_ more day, he was definitely going to break something. Possibly Gavin.

Eight days after rising from his grave, Michael was mindlessly flipping through TV channels. He really didn't know _why_ he was doing it, he was just so goddamn bored at this point he would do _anything_ to distract himself. Gavin was sitting upside-down in a chair at the kitchen table, his feet sticking up in the air and his hair barely touching the wooden floor. Ryan was downstairs in his lab, as always, and in fact they hadn’t seen him at all that day. Having finished with Gavin, he had since moved on to different projects. He still checked in on them from time to time, but the scientist had bigger fish to fry.

“I am so goddamn bored,” Gavin whined. “Michael, there’s nothing to _do._ ”

“What _can_ we do?” He flipped through channel after channel, commercials and dumb TV shows flashing by faster than he could take notice or interest of them. “We can’t exactly go outside.”

“Why not?”

“Really? Look in a fucking mirror and _then_ tell me why we can’t go out.”

“It’s getting pretty close to Halloween, though. Maybe people wouldn't notice.”

Michael sat up and threw the remote at Gavin. It hit him full in the stomach and caused him to fall out of the chair with a loud _thud_ and an “OOOOH!” of shock. “People only dress up _on_ Halloween, not fucking _before_ it, moron! And besides, how the fuck are you going to explain your eyes? How the fuck would I explain _mine?_ ”

Gavin pushed himself up off the floor. “I dunno, contacts?”

“You seriously think anybody would buy that?”

“They might.”

“Dude, no contacts are _that_ good.” Michael scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Also, how the fuck are you going to explain your stitches? If you say ‘makeup’ I’ll fucking murder you.”

“…well, it could work,” the sewn-together undead grumbled.

“Not in a million years, man. Just face it – we’re too fucking _weird_.” Michael flopped back against the couch and resigned himself to watching the _Food Network._

“Can’t we at _least_ go outside?” Gavin righted the chair and sat down again. “I’m _bored_ in here, Michael. It’s all dry and musty, and Ryan won’t let us into his lab anymore.”

“I dunno, it _could_ have something to do with the fact that you fucking break everything you touch. You’re like ‘Oooh, I’m Gavin Free and I don’t like nice things! Let me touch ‘em wif hands that don’t work right!’”

The Brit glared at him balefully. “Piss off, Michael.”

“Such _harsh_ words, Gavin. You cut me up inside.” He let his attention slide to the TV, which was now playing some cooking show featuring the proper way to cook lobster. It looked boring as all get out, but there wasn't anything else to _do._

Suddenly, there was a muffled _WHUMP,_ and an alarm started going off down in the lab. The undead pushed himself up off the couch and looked around in confusion. Pitch black smoke started trailing out from the kitchen, and, by extension, from the underground lab. Michael leaped up and ran into the kitchen, Gavin on his heels. “What is going _on,_ Michael?”

“That fucked up mong of a scientist is fucking experimenting again, that’s what’s going on!”

As he entered the kitchen, however, the door to the lab flew open with a loud _bam,_ and a shadowy figure emerged in a rush of inky smoke, coughing up a fit and lurching madly. Ryan – for of course it was him – stumbled into the kitchen island, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the walls and Formica counter tops. Michael grabbed Ryan’s sleeve and pulled him over to the window. Without even thinking he opened the window and punched the boards as hard as he could. Surprisingly they splintered in half, and he cleared them easily. As soon as they were gone, he practically flung the scientist outside in an attempt to get him fresh air. The smoke had abated enough at this point for Michael to see that Ryan was almost completely covered in soot; clearly he had been standing within range of whatever had caused the smoke, which, if Michael drew on what he’d already seen, was either a fire or an explosion.

“Seriously, dude?” Michael berated. If Ryan tried to reply, it was lost in his desperate gasps for air, so Michael went on. “Are you _really_ that fucking insane?! ‘Oh, let’s blow something up because fucking _science,_ bro!’ Seriously, if I’d known you were this fucking stupid and inconsiderate, I woulda asked Geoff to just let me stay in the graveyard. Least I would have gotten some fucking fresh air.”

By this time Ryan was mostly recovered; his breaths were less desperate and his limbs less shaky. He pulled himself free of Michael’s grip and reached up to remove a set of completely soot covered goggles from his face. This revealed a goggle-shaped stripe of clean skin, as well as his still bespectacled and now watery eyes. This, combined with the black soot on his face, made his mad scientist persona all the more apparent. He blinked and gazed at the smoke still pouring out from the entrance to the lab. “…Whoops,” he managed to croak. “Wasn't…wasn't expecting the reaction to be that…that potent.”

“No shit, dude. No fucking shit.”

“Flipping heck, where’s all this smoke coming from?” Gavin’s voice emerged from somewhere behind them. He coughed and Michael saw the smoke moving somewhat as Gavin tried to wave it away. “Bloody can’t see aught.”

“Mr. Asshole Scientist’s stupid experiments, that’s where.” Michael moved toward the door, thinking that, while there wasn't much he could do, he could at least try to do some damage control.

“It’s okay, I got this.” Ryan moved past him and reached for a small panel on the wall. There were a series of beeps, and then the door to the lab swung closed with another loud _bam._ Several seconds later, Michael could hear a loud whirring sound of fans staring up. “Emergency vents,” the scientist explained. “In case of, well, emergency.”

“What the fuck were you _doing_ down there? Were you trying to blow yourself to kingdom come, or did something go wrong when it shouldn't have?”

“The last one.” Ryan shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at the floor. “I mean, I _knew_ the compound was gonna be explosive, I just…didn't know…it was gonna _be_ …explosive.”

“You were making bloody explosives?! What the eff for? What the hell are you gonna blow up?”

“Well, you never know…plus they help bring in some extra cash.” The scientist took off his goggles and attempted to wipe off some of the soot. “Even mad scientists gotta have money.”

“You sell fucking _explosives?!_ ”

“Hey, I have to earn a living _somehow._ Otherwise I could do jack shit. Sadly, explosives are probably the least mad thing I could do.”

“You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

“Aw.” The scientist looked quite sad.

“Oh, don’t _you_ fucking start too. I get enough of that from Frankenstein over here.” Michael pointed back at Gavin. “Fucking ‘Ooooh Micool’ this and ‘Ooooh Micool’ that. Drives me fucking insane.”

“Michael…”

“You see? You see this shit?! He’s like a retarded parrot; he keeps repeating the same goddamn lines over and over!”

Ryan gave up on trying to clean his goggles for the time being and put them back on his head. “Could you guys stop bickering for, I dunno, one second?”

“You think we can fucking help it? We’re fucking _restless,_ dude! I’d kill to go to a fucking backwards-ass gas station if it meant we got out of this fucking shithole!” Michael glared at the scientist. His hands were slowly starting to clench into fists. “I’m sick and fucking tired of being trapped like a goddamn rat. I just want…I just want _out,_ dude. Even if it’s just a fucking ten minute _walk,_ I’d be satisfied.”

“…You know, if you wanted to leave, I wouldn't have stopped you,” Ryan said quietly.

“But would you let me back in?”

“Well, yeah, I would. Geoff would be fucking pissed if I didn't, and I don’t like angry demons any more than you would.” Ryan shrugged slightly. “I like it when my things are _not_ on fire.”

“Still… _can_ we go out? I mean, look at us.” He gestured to himself and Gavin. “I've got weird eyes and you already know about fucking Frankenstein…we’d be found out in, like, _seconds._ ” Michael frowned in thought. “Is there any way you could, I dunno, _disguise_ us?”

The scientist considered it. “I don’t think so. Nothing that would work for the undead, anyway. Also, I’m not sure it would work on a regular person, anyway. Hasn't really been tested.”

“Somehow I figured you’d say that.”

At that moment, the little panel let out a series of chirruping beeps. Ryan walked over and examined it. “Venting’s done,” he announced. “Should be safe to go down. Well, mostly safe.” He glanced over at the door to the lab and bit his lip. “Hope the damage wasn't _too_ bad…” He threw the door open and descended. Michael, who had nothing better to do, decided to follow him. Gavin apparently felt the same way; he was right on Michael’s heel.

Though the smoke was mostly gone now, there was still a thin plume rising from a table near the far right of the lab. Ryan headed over to it, Michael and Gavin on his heels. Glass shards littered the area three feet around the table, and most of the other glassware had been completely destroyed as well, leaving several lonely metal holders standing in the midst of the carnage. One corner of the table had gotten completely warped; a blackened pile of melted glass shards rested upon it.

The scientist examined the accident site carefully. “…Well, the table’s fucked, and I just lost a shit ton of glassware, but overall I can’t complain. The whole lab coulda gone up.”

Michael nudged a large shard of curved glass with his toe. “How the fuck did you survive this?”

“Yeah, how aren't you completely done in?” Gavin asked.

“I had a holder, and I was wearing my goggles.”

“Great. That explains _everything_ ,” Michael muttered.

Ryan pulled his goggles back down and rummaged around in the mess of melted glass. After a moment’s fishing, he pulled a set of laboratory tongs that were twisted and melted beyond recognition out of the mess. “Well, there goes another set of tongs. That’s getting really annoying.”

Without warning, an alarm went off for the second time that day. Not the shrill squeal of a smoke alarm, but a cacophonous wailing klaxon. All of the screens in the lab started flashing the same message in bold, warning red: ‘PROXIMITY WARNING. INTRUDER DETECTED ON PREMISES. PROXIMITY WARNING. INTRUDER DETECTED ON PREMISES.’

The tongs clattered to the ground as Ryan stared at the nearest screen in vague shock. “ _Shit!_ ” He ran over to the table with the three monitors and began typing frantically. They heard the door upstairs close with a loud _WHAM,_ as well as a strange whirring and clanging. Red lights began flashing on and off, and Ryan typed still faster.

“What the hell is going on?” Michael yelled. “What the fuck?”

“Flipping heck, that alarm is the _worst!_ ” Gavin pressed his hands over his ears and hunkered down. “What the freaking eff is going on?!”

By this point, Michael had seen the message flashing on the screen. “Who the fuck would want to break into this place?” He walked over to where the scientist was standing and leaned over his shoulder. Ryan had a black box open over the camera feeds, which were all showing static, and was typing commands frantically. Entire paragraphs of text were appearing with every line he typed, and Ryan appeared to be growing more and more frustrated as time went by. “What the fucking hell is going on, Ryan?”

“I don’t know! All my cameras are down!” Ryan frantically gestured at the static filled screens.

Then a new voice started speaking. “Hey asshole! Fucking disable your traps already! I just wanted to talk, you prick!” The static abated to reveal a familiar black and red eye spread across all the cameras, weirdly fractured by nine different feeds. “You fucking bastard, let me out!”

Ryan blinked dumbly. “… _Oh._ ” He pulled a nearby microphone toward him and turned it on. “Um….hi, Geoff.”

“About fucking time, you son of a bitch!” Geoff’s eye narrowed dangerously. “I can’t believe you fucking set holding pentagrams around your fucking house! When the hell did you do _that?_ And _why?!_ ”

“Two days ago. Wanted to, uh, beef up security.” Ryan frowned at the security camera feed. “I _wish_ you’d stop doing that with the cameras. Do you know how hard it is to calibrate that shit?”

“Do you know how many fucks I give about your fucking cameras? None. No fucks whatsoever. Just get me out of this damn thing!” The camera feeds went back to showing static.

Michael stared at the dead feeds, mouth hanging open. “Why’s Geoff here? And what the hell is a holding pentagram?”

Ryan pushed himself up and began walking back toward the door. “Holding pentagrams are kinda like bear traps for demons. They enter one and they’re stuck until you set them free or they’re exorcised. Guess Geoff accidentally walked into one.”

“Why do you have holding pentagrams set up around your house, anyway?” Michael followed after him once more, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Gavin walking to accompany them. “Are you just that fucking paranoid?”

“Didn't like how Geoff got through my defenses last time, so I had to…improve a little bit.” The door swung aside and Ryan jogged through the house with the two undead following close behind. “Might have gone a bit overboard.” He hit the button to open the door to the outside and stepped through.

Geoff was standing in the middle of the gravel path, arms crossed and tail switching madly. He glared at Ryan as he approached. “About fucking time, asshole.” Michael looked down at the demon’s feet and saw that he was standing in the center of a five pointed star mounted in a circle. Other shapes and squiggles decorated the spaces in between the star’s points. It glowed a bright red and pulsed slightly as Geoff glowered at Ryan, foot beginning to tap. “Get me out of this!”

“Just a second.” Ryan used the toe of his shoe to rub one section of the circle out. The pulsing red faded and Geoff stepped out of the pentagram. “There you are.”

“Seriously, why did you add those?” Geoff’s flame let out a solitary spark. “What’d I ever do to you?”

“Just being careful, you know.”

Now that he was free, the demon looked Ryan over. “Why are you covered in black shit?”

“Well…s’a long story…”

“You mean – you _were_ setting shit on fire?! Goddammit, I fucking knew it! You can’t go for fucking five minutes without burning shit, can you?! You fucking piece of shit scientist!” The flame between Geoff’s horns flared into brilliant life, consuming both horns as it grew in his wrath. Fire also flickered around his clenched fists and sparked at the end of his tail. “You know one of the things that kills the undead? Fire. You know what I  _didn't_ want you to do? Set shit on fire! That was the _opposite_ of what I wanted!”

“It was fine! It was contained! _They_ were never in any danger!”

“‘They’? Who the fuck is they?” The demon looked over at where Michael and Gavin were standing. His brow furrowed as he took in the sewn-together undead. “Who’s _this?_ ”

The scientist glanced back at Gavin and smiled slightly. “Remember that project you said would never work?”

“You mean…it actually worked?” Geoff’s flame started dying down as he walked over to examine Gavin. “Wow, dude. Jack was right after all; you _were_ on to something. Didn't think you had it in you.”

“Um…hello,” Gavin greeted nervously. “You a demon, then?”

“He talks and everything? Shit, this is actually really nice, Ryan.”

“Thanks, Geoff.” Ryan sounded inordinately smug.

“Still mad at you, though.”

“Aw.”

“Also, hello, weird Frankenstein guy.” Geoff waved at Gavin. “I’m Geoff. Coolest demon this side of Purgatory.”

“Pretty sure you’re the _only_ demon this side of Purgatory,” Ryan commented.

“Ryan, I am _seriously_ this close to cursing your ass. Keep your mouth shut and I _might_ change my mind.” He turned back to Gavin. “So…didn't catch your name.”

“Gavin. I’m Gavin.”

The demon nodded. “And you were resurrected by Ryan?”

“Guess so. Wasn't really there, was I?”

“Well, you _were_ …” Geoff turned to Michael. “What’s it like hanging out with this new guy?”

Michael just shrugged. “It’s fucking annoying sometimes and sort of all right other times.”

“But _seriously,_ Ryan, I dropped Michael off here so you could keep him _safe,_ not so you could set the fucking house on fire!” The demon shook his head. “I feel like I should stage an intervention or something….”

“Nobody was in _any_ danger! I had it all under control!”

“Says the guy who’s fucking covered in black shit!”

“I’m not hurt, and they’re not hurt, _and_ the damage was minimal!”

“That doesn't change the fact that _you fucking set shit on fire!_ ” Geoff took a deep breath; his flame began dying down again. Turning to the two undead, he asked, “Let’s hear from you two. How’s it going here in his fucking house of horrors?”

“Bloody boring,” Gavin said.

“Fine, except for the fact that we can’t fucking go out,” Michael added.

“Why?” Geoff sounded genuinely confused.

“Fucking _look_ at us! We’d be caught the moment we tried to go _anywhere!_ ”

Geoff idly twirled the end of his mustache. “You _are_ ‘creatures of the night’ aren't you? Maybe you should go out at night.”

“And do _what?_ ”

“Good point.” The demon stopped fiddling with his mustache and began rummaging in his pockets. “I _might_ have something that can help…dunno if I grabbed any, though…” He pulled out the handful of teeth again, his wallet and his iPhone, but didn't seem to find what he was looking for. “Dammit, I could have _sworn_ I grabbed some…” He finally pulled out a long, silvery chain with a miniature goat’s skull hanging on it. “ _There_ it is! I knew I brought at least one extra!”

“What is it?” Michael eyed the necklace suspiciously. “Some fucking demon thing?”

“Dude, this is one of the most beautiful things we demons have ever created pretty much _ever._ Any inhuman creature without magic who wears this little charm looks human to the mortal eye. It’s pretty fucking sweet.”

“You mean if me or Frankenstein puts it on, we look normal?”

“That’s right.”

Michael was quiet for a second before putting his hands out expectantly. “Give it to me.”

“What’s the magic word?” the demon asked in a sing-song voice.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“C’mon, let’s play nice here.” Still, Geoff let the pendant fall into Michael’s hands. “Consider it an apology for me dumping you with the king of the crazy assholes here.”

“I don’t really consider myself crazy,” Ryan said.

“Shut up. Nobody cares.”

Michael looped the charm over his neck; the chain was so long the little skull ended up about an inch above his belly button. “I don’t feel any different. Is this, like, fucking broken?”

“You’re not supposed to feel anything. Hey, Gavin, look at Michael and tell us if he looks any different.”

Michael turned around and the sewn-together undead gave him a once-over. “Um…I can’t tell, really. He looks sorta…normal, but sorta…not?”

“All right then. Ryan, you’re human, look at Michael and tell him what you see.”

Now the scientist examined Michael. “Wow, that’s…that’s pretty amazing, actually. He looks pretty normal.”

“That’s fucking awesome!” Michael removed the pendant and admired it.

“Lemme see!” Gavin snatched at the pendant, but the undead yanked it back.

“This one’s mine, asshole! Go find your own!

“But _Michael!”_

“But nothing! Fuck off!” Michael shoved Gavin away; the sewn-together undead fell to the ground with an angry squawk.

“Really, guys? Really?” Geoff crossed his arms and looked down at the squabbling undead. “It’s seriously just a necklace. They sell ‘em for fucking nothing where I come from.”

“Maybe that’s true for _you,_ but seriously – you just gave us something that’ll let us go out in public, like fucking real people! That’s some serious shit right there! And _I_ got it first, Frankenstein!”

“Hold on,” Geoff said tiredly, “I think I might have another one. Jesus.” He rummaged around in his pockets again, pulled out the same wallet, teeth and iPhone before retrieving another necklace. This one had a shorter chain and the pendant was a bird’s skull rather than a goat’s. “This one’s an older model, so it might not work as well.” He tossed it to Gavin, who practically leaped up to catch it and put it on.

“Did it work? Am I normal?” He looked at Ryan with puppy-dog eyes. “Ryan, am I normal, Ryan? Do I look okay, Ryan?”

Ryan squinted at him. “Nope.”

Gavin’s face fell. “Not even a little teeny bit?”

“Not even a little bit. You’re still undead.”

“Aw…it didn't work.” Gavin took the pendant off and handed it back to Geoff.

“Well, it _is_ an older model,” the demon commented, “ _and_ I wasn't sure it would work on you anyway. You  _aren't_ really a mystical creature, dude. You were created by science.”

“Isn't that the same thing?”

Both Geoff and Ryan stared at him. “Not really,” Geoff finally said.

“No.” Ryan sounded almost insulted by this insinuation. “Not at all.”

The demon shook his head and tucked the pendant back in his pocket. “I’ll see if I can get another one. In the meantime, you guys want to head out?”

Michael stared at him. “Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m pretty serious.”

“I've been _itching_ to leave this hell-hole since the second day!”

“You’re outside right now,” Ryan pointed out.

“But not out of the fucking shithole!” Michael shot back. “Seriously, Ryan, would it kill you to fucking _mow_ every once in a while? And what’s with all the gnomes, anyway?”

“I have to keep up appearances, otherwise I might get found out.”

“Are we bloody goin’ or aren't we?” Gavin butted in.

“Well, are you _ready_ to go?”

“Yeah!” Michael and Gavin said together.

“Now, we might not _do_ anything…it could just be wandering the city streets…”

“Then let’s fucking _wander,_ dude. I’ll be happy just to be out of Ryan’s house of weird science crap.”

“Works for me. And Ryan,” Geoff turned to Ryan, “you’re not out of the water yet. I’ll fucking be back for you, motherfucker.”

“Yeah, I’m really scared,” Ryan said sarcastically.

“Oh, I am _so_ going to curse your ass when I get back. Take a shower and sit back, cause I am gonna fucking _roast_ you.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever.”

“No, really, take a shower. You look disgusting.”

“…I _had_ planned on that.”

“I wonder sometimes…” Geoff shook his head and turned back to the undead. “Ready?”

“Yes!”

“All righty.” Geoff grabbed Michael’s shoulder with his left hand and Gavin’s with his right. “Hold on to your asses.”

“Shit, not this aga-”

“Why do we need to hold o-”

Geoff took a step, and the three of them vanished into the night. The scientist stared at the spot where they had vanished for a moment, and then cast his gaze down to the broken seal. He crouched down and fixed the pentagram’s edge, restoring it to full effectiveness. Then he walked back toward his house, ready to take a shower and get back to work.

Like Geoff would ever curse him, anyway.


	9. A Howl of a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of having bevs with Geoff, Michael and Gavin wander off and find something…fucking weird.

It was evening in downtown Austin. The streetlights were just blazing into artificial orange light to match the brightness burning in every window. Those who loved the nightlife were prowling the streets, looking for parties, preferably those with bountiful beverages. Cars occasionally zoomed past, though the traffic was dwindling somewhat now that the sun had descended beyond the horizon.

In a pocket of shadowy side street, three people materialized into existence. Geoff released Michael and Gavin’s shoulders and stepped forward. “Good, nobody saw us. That was stealthy as dicks.”

Michael staggered a bit, but the second nether walk hadn’t been as devastating as the first. It helped that he was slowly getting used to the idea of being dead, so his physical reactions were becoming more muted as the days went by. Gavin, on the other hand, was not so lucky. As soon as Geoff released his shoulder, he pitched forward, collapsed and retched horribly.

“Where are we?” Michael asked.

“Downtown Austin, just off 7th Street,” Geoff replied. “Gonna show off some of the sweet nightlife here, including some of the less human kind.”

Gavin continued retching against the wall of a nearby restaurant. “C’mon, Gavin,” the other undead complained, “don’t be such a wuss.” Michael grabbed his collar and hauled him to his feet. “It’s not _that_ fucking bad, dude.” Gavin let out a weak, twittering gurgle and leaned against Michael. “You fucking pussy.”

“First time’s always the worst.” Geoff shook his horned head. “Some handle it well, others…not so much.”

“Gavin, seriously, get over it. We didn’t come here so you could puke in an alley.”

The demon poked his head out of the side street for a brief second. “Not a lot of people here at the moment. That’s good; we could use some fucking privacy for a second.” He popped back into the side street and asked, “Do you think you guys can hold the fort for a second?”

“Gavin’s not going anywhere, that’s for sure,” Michael replied.

“Sweet. Back in a second.” Geoff nether-walked away, leaving Michael with the still reeling Gavin.

“Seriously, dude, you’re a huge fucking wimp,” he told him. “I wasn’t sick _nearly_ this long.”

“Well…you’re bloody dead…Michael…I’m _mostly_ dead.” Gavin was starting to recover now; he lurched a little less and he sounded less like he was going to barf his guts out. “That…whatever it was…affects you less than me, right?”

“I don’t know, _is_ it right?”

The sewn-together undead moved away from Michael. He wobbled a bit, but managed to stand on his own two feet. “I think I’m going to be all right, Michael.”

“God forbid you weren’t, Gavin,” Michael drawled sarcastically. “Where would we be without _you?_ ”

There was a brief flicker and then Geoff reappeared. He had a University of Texas hoodie in one hand and a matching baseball cap in the other. “What’s up?” he greeted. “Got something for ya, Gavin.” He tossed the hoodie and the cap to the undead, who just barely managed to catch them. “Put those on so you don’t freak everybody the fuck out.”

“What are these for?” He examined the hoodie cautiously, as if it was something more than just burnt orange cloth.

“I just told you, asshole. Put them on so nobody can see your fucking stitches. Not that hard a concept to grasp.” Gavin blinked at the hoodie and cap for a few more seconds before finally pulling the hoodie over his head. As soon as he poked his head through the neck-hole, Geoff approached him, pulled the hat out of his hand, forced it onto his head and pulled the hoodie over it. “There, _now_ you look vaguely normal.”

“I look a right mong,” he complained.

“Same as a good chunk of the people in this city. Nobody will fucking care.” The demon pulled the cap down lower. “Maybe you should keep your hands in your pockets.”

“If he does, he’s going to look like a fucking shoplifter,” Michael pointed out. “He _already_ looks like he wants to steal something.”

“Yeah, well, it’s either shoplifter or Frankenstein. Let’s go with the lesser of two idiots.” Geoff poked his head out of the alley again. “Let’s go before we get ourselves spotted, dickheads.” He stepped out of the alley and began walking.

“C’mon, Gavin, let’s go. I don’t want to hang out in a fucking alley.” Michael grabbed Gavin’s sleeve and dragged him out of the side street.

“All right! Let me go, you donut!” He wriggled free and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Now you _really_ look like a fucking thug.” Michael rolled his eyes and went after Geoff.

The trio walked down 7th Street together. Geoff confidently led the way with Michael following close behind and Gavin bringing up the rear. At this dusky time of evening the crowds thinned rapidly, seeking either bar or car, leaving them mostly to their own devices. The people they did pass traipsed on by, not noticing that the man leading the entourage had giant black horns, red-black eyes and a long black lion’s tail.

“Why isn’t anybody freaking out?” Michael hissed. “You’d think a fucking _demon_ wouldn’t be that hard to miss.”

“Cause I’m fucking awesome, that’s why. I can hide from regular mortals no problem. It’s one of the first things a demon fucking learns. To everybody here, I’m just another guy on the street.”

“Yeah, just another guy with tattoos and a handlebar mustache,” he muttered.

“Well, as they say, you gotta keep Austin weird.” Geoff smiled slightly; the tip of his forked tongue flicked out from between his lips. “I fit right in here.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

They kept walking. The sidewalk, though relatively clean and free of cracks, was in need of some work. The street itself smelled of sunbaked asphalt, cigarette smoke and car exhaust; it was a tremendously urban smell, but not entirely unpleasant. High up above the tallest buildings had lights burning bright on all sides, proudly proclaiming the names of their companies to the world. Smaller buildings revealed rooms full of people; several were finishing their shopping, while most were eating dinner. For Michael, it was a welcome change from the humdrum unlife he’d had in Ryan’s rundown shithole of a house. It wasn’t exactly exciting or interesting, but it _was_ an improvement. He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath.

“Where we goin’, Geoff?” Gavin asked. “I’m all turned around now.”

“Well, I have a problem, and I know where to find a solution. Should be around here somewhere…”

“What’s the problem?” Michael asked.

“‘What’s the problem?’ I’ll tell you what the problem is: I’m sober! That’s the fucking problem! I haven’t had anything to drink all day.” The demon sounded as grim and grave as if he was pronouncing himself terminally ill. “However, there is a pretty sweet bar around here that’ll fix that problem in no time. They might even have stuff for you guys.” Just the thought of drinking seemed to perk him up to no end.

“Do you just run on alcohol or something?”

“More or less.”

“Which is it: more or less?”

“I certainly _could_ use more of it in my life,” Geoff remarked wistfully. “If it was possible, I’d never be sober again.”

“You’re a _real_ piece of work, you know that?”

“Oh, I know. I wouldn’t want to be any other way.” He glanced around and stopped in his tracks. His incessantly switching tail suddenly halted its motion. “Ah, _there_ it is!”

Geoff had stopped outside of a building with a large ‘For Lease’ sign plastered in the front window. As Michael stared incredulously at it, another image began superseding the first. Flame red lights flared into brilliant life in the windows, which were now decorated with fire decals instead of lease announcements. A bright neon sign sparked into life and named the establishment Six Sixty Six; the first ‘s’ had devil’s horns, while the last ‘x’ had a long pointed tail.

“This place is fucking sweet as dicks,” the demon purred happily. “Best part is only supernatural creatures can see or enter it. Now, if you’ll excuse me for a second, there’s a whiskey in there with my name on it.” Without further ado, Geoff pulled the door open and swept into the bar, his tail flicking once as he vanished inside.

“Well, there goes our ride,” Michael commented grumpily. “Fucking great.”

“Should we go inside the gaff, then? I could well do with a bev myself.” Gavin moved to look in the bar’s window.

“Didn’t you fucking _die_ because of drunk driving?”

“Maybe I did, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to drink, dunnit?”

“I think it sort of _should_.” Michael moved on. “Anyway, what sort of drink would I be able to have? My body doesn’t work.”

Gavin jogged to keep up with his fellow undead. “Ever see _Corpse Bride?_ ”

“I don’t remember.”

“That weird film with the stick figures and Johnny Depp and that one bird with the bones? The dead people in that drank poison; maybe that’s what _you_ drink.” Gavin sounded rather pleased with himself when he suggested this.

Michael stared at him. “You’re seriously basing this on a kid’s movie?”

“Wouldn’t really consider it a kid’s movie. Effing terrifying.”

“Still, I’m not gonna chug fucking cyanide just because someone in a movie did. That’s fucking stupid.”

“Not like it would hurt you, yeah? You’re already completely mullered as it is.”

“It could make me _worse,_ Gavin! Or I could have to get my fucking stomach pumped! I know Ryan would be fucking _thrilled_ , but _I_ sure as hell wouldn’t!” Michael stormed on ahead. “I mean, I _appreciate_ you trying to help, Gavin, but I’m seriously just a corpse on legs. I walk, talk and sleep. That’s it.”

The Brit didn’t have a response to that, so they walked in silence for several minutes. Eventually the tall business buildings petered out, replaced by more suburban establishments. This neighborhood looked a lot more rundown than the city before it; maybe it was the abundance of used cars, or perhaps the worn signs of the various strip malls. The sun descended fully beyond the horizon and night truly enveloped the city. Several street lights sputtered into life, though for the most part, they were in darkness.

“Where the bloody hell are we, Michael?” Gavin eventually complained. “I’m lost as hell.”

“I don’t know. I’m just walking, Gavin. I haven’t been able to just _walk_ in a fucking dog’s age.”

“But where are we _going?_ ”

“I don’t know! We’re just _walking,_ Gavin!”

“Still think we shoulda popped in that bar…”

“And done _what?_ Jerk each other off in the corner? I’m _dead!_ I can’t fucking drink or eat!”

“Geoff said there was something-”

“He’s a fucking _demon!_ They’re not exactly trustworthy, dude.”

“Geoff seems all right, though.”

“I’ll give you that, he _does_ seem a little nicer than most demons. Then again I have nothing to compare that to, so we could be totally wrong. Anyway, there’s a lot he hasn’t been telling us.”

“Like what?”

“Like _everything.”_

They waited to cross the street at an intersection. Gavin seemed a little nervous around the cars; he shifted around and looked up at the sky. “Look at that moon, Michael!”

“It’s the fucking moon, Gavin. Who gives a shit?”

“It’s all full, though. Kinda lovely.”

“Again: who the fuck gives a shit?” Still, the undead looked up. The moon was indeed as round and shiny as a newly minted quarter; it hung in the sky, veiled by the thinnest black cloud, mysterious and strangely ominous. _‘It’s a goddamn moon. Who gives a shit?’_ He tore his eyes away and saw the sign change from ‘Don’t Walk’ to ‘Walk.’ Making sure Gavin was following him, he walked across the street and kept on going.

About a block later, Michael was just wondering what to do next when he and Gavin heard one of the spookiest noises in their unlives. A long, mournful howl ululated through the night; though distant, it still caused the hair on the backs of their necks to rise in alarm. There was a second of silence after the howl concluded, and then at least a hundred dogs in various locations started yapping madly.

“What the freaking eff was that?” Gavin whimpered.

“I _want_ to say it was a dog…”

“Do dogs make that sound?”

“They can.”

“But do they?”

Michael just sighed and grabbed his arm. “C’mon, let’s just go check it out. Who knows, maybe somebody just lost their dog and now it’s all lonely and shit.”

“Aw. Let’s go help it, Michael.”

They walked to the corner and looked down the adjacent street. “I can see a park over there,” Michael commented. “You think it’s in there?”

“Yeah, let’s go check it out, Michael.”

Unlike the street, the park was dark and looked deserted. Creeping carefully towards it, the undead duo stood on the outskirts and glanced around. “It’s not around here,” Gavin whispered.

“No shit; it’s probably _in_ the park, genius. You wanna split up and look around?”

“I want to stay near you, Michael.”

“You go left, I’ll go right.”

“But _Michael-_ ”

“It’s just a dog, Gavin. No need to be scared.” Michael turned his back and began walking away. He looked back to see if Gavin was still following him, but the sewn-together undead was walking in the other direction, albeit reluctantly. He turned and proceeded into the park.

Darkness reigned in the forest; the streetlights faded into the background as Michael walked through the trees. Grass crunching under his feet, he wove his way through the trees. He adjusted to the darkness quickly, something for which he was grateful. Small shafts of moonlight fell through the branches ahead, illuminating patches of dead grass and leaves. He kept on moving, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Five minutes of creeping later, he heard something moving. Michael stood still and glanced around. The sound stopped too, and for a second he just waited. A pair of glowing eyes blinked in the darkness to his right and he heard a low snuffling. He kept as still as he could, staring the ‘dog’ directly in the eyes. The eyes moved closer, bit by bit, and the snuffling increased. As the ‘dog’ approached Michael was able to see its shaggy brown body and long snout. _‘It’s…it’s a wolf,’_ he thought. Then he looked up at the moon and put two and two together. _‘Could it…is it a werewolf?’_ He wasn’t as surprised as he thought he would be, but then again, why should he be? He knew the world wasn’t as ordinary as it seemed – hell, _he_ was a demonically raised dead body – so why shouldn’t werewolves exist, too?

As if to confirm what he was thinking, a cloud overhead shifted and the werewolf was suddenly doused in moonlight. It was about as tall as Michael and at least twice as long from nose to tail tip. Its mane, pointed ears and upper muzzle were dark brown, which faded into a lighter brown on its legs, body and tail, and then into tan on its belly and inner legs. Its huge, hand-like front paws had five long, sharp claws, which dug into the ground as the werewolf cautiously approached. Wet black nose twitching, the werewolf inched closer, staring at Michael with enormous chocolate brown eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the undead said, as gently as possible. He held out one pale hand and waited. The werewolf backed away for a second and growled again; Michael caught a brief glimpse of long, sharp white fangs gleaming in the moonlight. Then the werewolf was approaching again. Cautiously it smelled his hand; he could feel the hot puffs of air gusting over his skin. To a werewolf he must smell strange indeed: a walking corpse was a rare sight even in a world of monsters and demons. The wolf tilted its head and kept sniffing his hand, and Michael thought he could see a hint of confusion in its eyes. Either it would decide he was not a threat and move on, or it would think he was some sort of edible treat and attack. Undead and tough though he undoubtedly was, he didn’t fancy to test his chances against those claws and teeth. _‘Okay, werewolf,’_ he thought, _‘let’s fucking wrap this up and go our separate ways.’_

Suddenly the werewolf let out a sharp snort and reared onto its hind legs. Before Michael could even _think_ of how to react, it was upon him. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the attack. Coarse fur rubbed against his face and neck, and he felt a strong paw grip his shoulder. Blinking dumbly, he looked down and saw that the werewolf had laid its muzzle upon his shoulder and was nuzzling his neck while trying to embrace him with its forelimbs. This sort of reaction was less wild wolf and more ecstatic puppy. While terrifying, it was nevertheless endearing, and Michael found himself reaching up and scratching the werewolf’s ears. Its tail started to wag madly and it nuzzled a little more furiously. “Jesus, calm down,” he laughed. “Are you a werewolf or a lapdog?”

Eventually he let go of the werewolf and stood back. While it was undoubtedly a friendly werewolf, Michael couldn’t help but feel a bit odd holding it with the knowledge that when the sun came up it would turn into a person, plus he needed to find Gavin and get back to Geoff; maybe they would see if that bar did have drinks for the undead after all. _‘A real werewolf…shit, Gavin’s gonna fucking flip his shit.’_

When he stepped away, the werewolf whined unhappily and its tail drooped. “Dude, I don’t even _know_ you,” he told it. “For all I know, you’re a fucking murderer or some shit, and next thing I know you’re after me with a fucking knife trying to tear apart my butthole. And you don’t know me either; why do you even _like_ me that much? You’re a fucking werewolf, at least show it, dude.” It tilted its head again and let out a small bark. “How do you even know you can trust me?”

The werewolf seemed to consider this before turning around and padding off into the surrounding trees. Moments later it returned with something in its mouth. It walked over to Michael, dropped whatever it was at his feet, and sat down to watch him. He leaned over and saw that the item in question was a two-gallon Ziploc bag containing a neatly folded set of clothes. Though he might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, he knew these must be the werewolf’s clothes. _‘And this is important…why?’_ Nevertheless he examined them curiously. The clothes were nothing out of the ordinary; there was a pair of blue jeans, a brown t-shirt, a pair of black and white checkered Vans, and a glasses case. There was something vaguely familiar about the whole ensemble…

“Michael! Where are you, boi?”

The undead jumped and dropped the bag. After God knew how long ago they’d split up he hadn’t expected to hear Gavin’s voice again just yet. The werewolf started and looked around, hackles raising slightly. “It’s all right. He’s a friend. Sort of. Okay, he’s a dick, but he’s harmless. The most he could do is tear his arm off at you,” Michael told the werewolf. “Anyway, gotta go, Wolfman. See ya.”

He began jogging toward the sound of Gavin’s voice. Soon enough the lanky form of the other undead loomed ahead of him. For some reason Gavin had wandered into the nearby baseball field and was now marching along the surrounding fence, occasionally yelling for Michael. “What the fuck are you doing, asshole?” he demanded as soon as he got close enough. “You trying to wake the whole goddamn neighborhood?”

Gavin’s face lit up as soon as he saw Michael approaching him. “Michael! I’ve been so on edge ever since I’ve got here! It’s like there’s….something…” He trailed off as his eyes switched from gazing at Michael’s face to staring at something over his shoulder. His pupils contracted as the color drained from the living half of his face. “Michael…there’s…there’s…a giant…oh God, Michael!”

“What?” He turned around and saw that the werewolf had followed him into the field, though it was hanging back now that it could see Gavin. It was growling again, baring its fangs at this new person, hackles rising as it slowly backed away. “It followed me? Goddammit.”

“Michael…I…I think it’s cross with us…” Gavin whimpered.

“Nah, he’s just scared. You probably smell like shit, dude.”

“Why?” Gavin looked less scared and a lot more insulted at this.

“Cause you’re a piece of shit.”

“Michael…”

“Whatever, dude. C’mon, let’s go say hi to the werewolf.”

“Is it nice?”

“He _seems_ okay.” Michael started walking back to the werewolf with Gavin in tow. “Well, he liked _me_. Not so sure how he’ll feel about _you_.”

The werewolf backed away a little bit more, but it seemed a little less wary now that Gavin had joined Michael. It stopped growling and just looked at them warily. “Look-” Michael grabbed Gavin’s shoulder and, ignoring his squall of indignation, thrust him toward the werewolf. “Completely fucking harmless. He’s held together with fucking thread: you’d kill him in seconds.”

“ _Michael!_ ”

“What? It’s true.”

“Don’t encourage it!”

By now the werewolf had started approaching them. It sniffed at Gavin’s face and neck, and the sewn-together undead stood stock still, arms held to his chest, staring at the werewolf like a mouse would a cat. The werewolf let out a single chuff and shook itself. While it wasn’t as enthusiastic about Gavin as it had been about Michael, it seemed at least to accept that he was neither a threat nor a treat.

“See? It’s totally fine.” Michael released Gavin and walked toward the werewolf. “Now, if you don’t mind, Wolfman, we gotta go. It’s getting late and we need to find our ride.”

Michael had just said this when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Turning around, he saw Geoff materialize out of thin air, looking hectic and just a little bit drunk. “ _There_ you are!” he shouted. “Where the _fuck_ have you been? Don’t you know how-” He stopped as soon as he saw the creature standing beside Michael and Gavin. His flame pulsed, sparked, and then flared into sudden angry light. “What the hell are you doing with a fucking _werewolf?_ Get away from it, idiots!”

“Geoff, it’s fine. He’s friend-”

Without warning the werewolf let out a thunderous roar and charged the demon, claws outstretched and jaws open wide. Geoff narrowly managed to dodge the initial attack. His forearms burst into flame and he let out a hiss, baring his own fangs. The werewolf whirled around and swiped at Geoff with one giant paw. He lifted his hand and conjured a fiery shield to protect himself; the werewolf’s paw bounced off and promptly caught fire. It yowled in pain and danced away, stomping madly to put the fire out.

“What the fuck’s going on? He wasn’t attacking before!” Michael yelled.

This caught the werewolf’s attention; it looked over at the two undead, and Michael saw that its warm brown eyes had turned a feral shade of yellowy-gold with black where the whites would be, a lot like Geoff’s eyes. It snarled angrily at them and began moving. Gavin ducked behind Michael. “Michael, we’re gonna get done!”

“We’ll be fine! I’ll figure something out!”

Michael widened his stance and brought up his hands, ready to fight the werewolf with…well, with whatever he had. The werewolf moved closer and closer, and then it rose onto its hind legs to strike with its forepaws. At that moment Michael ran forward and tackled the werewolf. They fell to the ground with a tremendous _CRASH_ and the werewolf started wriggling madly, trying to shake off the undead pest. Michael wormed his way onto the werewolf’s back, and then up to its head. The werewolf leaped to its feet and began trying to toss him off, shaking and jumping like a creature possessed. Clinging on for dear life, the undead inched forward and wrapped his forearms around the werewolf’s muzzle, clamping it shut. This upset the werewolf even more; it reared again and brought its paws up to its head. Ten sharp black claws tore at Michael’s arms and hands, ripping skin and sending drops of black blood flying.

Barely holding on, he turned his head and saw Gavin standing there staring at them in vague horror. “Fucking _do_ something, Gavin!” he shouted.

The reanimated Brit blinked dumbly before letting out a shrill yell and running toward the grappling duo. He threw himself at the werewolf’s hind legs and managed to knock him down again. Michael’s back hit the ground hard enough to shatter several bones; stars dancing in his head and tears in his eyes he still clung on.

Geoff, meanwhile, had a predicament on his hands. Now that the two undead were grappling with the werewolf, he couldn’t use any of his spells on the beast without harming the other two. After all, fire was one of the only things that could kill the undead, and fire was also one of the only schools of magic he was actually good at. He floundered for a minute and wondered what to do. Then he got an idea; it was an absolutely stupid and crazy idea, but at least it was something. Running forward, he also threw himself at the werewolf and hit its furry flank. As soon as his palms came into contact with its side he pushed the whole group into a nether path. The world rushed by in a flash of color while everyone yelled and howled and hollered to no end.

Confused as to what was going on, Michael clung to the werewolf’s muzzle, determined to keep it from harming either of his friends. The nether path was still as sickening as it had been the first time, but if it affected him, then it sure as hell had to affect the werewolf, and for that he could, for the moment, be thankful. Somewhere beneath him he heard Gavin screaming blue murder and heard the soft crackling of Geoff’s flames.

All four of them shot out of the nether path and collided with the ground. Michael still clung to the werewolf and rolled with it, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Geoff and Gavin go flying into the grass. The werewolf scrambled to rise, letting out a warbling sort of muffled grumble. It shook itself once and began trying to get Michael off again. Squinting through the werewolf’s brown fur, the undead saw the familiar barbed wire fence and dead grass of Ryan’s front lawn. _‘What? Why the hell are we back here? Unless…’_ He remembered the alarms that had gone off when Geoff came the second time around, as well as Ryan’s security camera feeds and tendency to be over prepared. _‘…Geoff just made this Ryan’s problem. And Ryan probably has a billion different ways to deal with this sort of problem.’_

Sure enough, Michael heard the distant bang of the front door opening and the rapid approach of feet. He lifted his head and saw the scientist running toward them, lab coat flapping behind him, holding what appeared to be a gun in his hands. “Don’t fucking _shoot_ it!” he yelled. “He’s a fucking _person,_ asshole!”

Ryan took no notice of this and lifted the gun up, squinting through the scope as he tracked the werewolf’s motion. It had just noticed him and was now careening toward him. He stared unflinchingly at the werewolf before squeezing the trigger. The gun let out a sharp _thwop_ and the werewolf staggered backward, let out a high whine and began sinking back onto its haunches. It lolled for a few seconds and finally toppled to the ground. Michael let go of its neck and stood back, staring at Ryan in horror. “What did you _do?!_ ”

The scientist lowered the gun and strode forward. “Don’t worry, it’s just sleeping. Tranquilizer dart. Made it myself. Nice mix of amphetamines and wolfsbane extract. Should keep it quiet.”

Michael leaned down to examine the werewolf. Its side was rising and falling slowly, and its muzzle had flopped open. “He’ll be okay then?”

“Sure it will.” Ryan’s too nonchalant tone of voice suggested exactly the opposite. “I should probably get it in a cage before it wakes up. Then I suppose it’ll be time to start patching you guys up.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Michael looked down and saw the weeping gashes on his arms. They were already starting to seal shut at the furthest edges. “I don’t suppose I’m going to turn into a werewolf.”

“Sort of have to be alive for that.”

“Thought so.”

Ryan leaned down and looped a thin metallic rope around the werewolf’s front paws. After making sure it was secure he began dragging it to the gloomy house on the hill.

“I’m gonna go check on the others,” Michael told him.

“Yeah, cause I don’t need any help with this.”

Ignoring the scientist’s sarcastic remark the undead went to check on his friends. Gavin had just pushed himself up and was getting to his feet. Sometime during the fight he’d lost his hat and hood, revealing his pale, asymmetrical face. Once again he looked like he was about to puke. “Michael…”

“Just shake it off, dude. You’ll get used to it eventually.”

“No, Michael…my _hand…_ ” He lifted up his right arm.

“Don’t be a-” The rest of Michael’s sentence died in his throat. Gavin’s right hand was gone, leaving only a stump and a few snapped threads behind. Michael supposed he should be glad it wasn’t bleeding, but it just seemed to make the whole affair even more disgusting. “Where’s your fucking _hand?!_ What the hell happened?!”

“It’s here,” Gavin said sadly and proffered his other hand. His detached limb hung limply from his left hand, fingers twitching ever so slightly.

“Dude, that’s fucking _gross._ ”

“I know, Michael.” Gavin looked around and seemed to realize where they were. “We’re back here already?”

“Yeah. Guess Geoff decided Ryan would be better at wrangling werewolves or some shit. Speaking of,” he glanced around, “where is Geoff?”

“Dunno,” Gavin replied.

“I’m fucking over here!” Geoff’s voice came from somewhere around the gravel path. “God fucking _dammit!_ ”

“What is it, Geoff?” The two undead ran to the demon; Michael privately hoped it had nothing to do with a detached anything.

“I’m fucking stuck _again!_ Fucking piece of shit asshole Haywood fixed the goddamn fucking pentagram!” Geoff crossed his arms and hissed. To Michael’s surprise steam started leaking out of his ears and nostrils. “I am going to fucking curse his ass so hard he’ll be feeling it for all eternity!”

Looking down, Michael saw that the holding pentagram had indeed been fixed, and Geoff was right in the middle of it once more. It pulsed with bright red light in an almost smug sort of way, as if pleased to have caught the demon for the second time.

“Great,” the undead sighed, “fucking perfect. First we tranq a werewolf, then Gavin loses his hand, and now Geoff’s fucking trapped again. What else can go wrong?”


	10. Rayvelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group argues about werewolves and weird experiments. Also, Michael apparently knows a werewolf. What’s up with that?

“Don’t just stand there, assholes! Get me out of here!” Geoff glared balefully at the two undead and let out another angry hiss.

Michael stared down at the glowing pentagram. “Uh, do I just-”

“Just fucking break the line!”

“Okay, Jesus! Calm down!” The undead moved forward and lifted a foot to rub out a section of the pentagram. As soon as his foot touched the star it pulsed again, and Michael suddenly felt as though an iron clamp had seized his ankle and held it fast. He tried to yank it out, but it was stuck. “What the _fuck?_ I’m not a demon; why is it holding _me?!_ ” Michael windmilled his arms and put his free foot out as far as he could. All this accomplished was getting his balls squished by the seam of his jeans, which, being undead, wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it still wasn’t pleasant. His foot simply refused to move. “Let me go, you piece of shit pentagram!”

“Geoff was the one who spelled you, right?” Gavin asked.

“Can you repeat that in a less stupid way?” Michael snapped.

“He did the resurrection shite?”

“Yeah,” Geoff interjected. “Took me a week, but I did it.”

“Then you’re just as buggered as he is, yeah?”

Michael considered this and sighed deeply. “Fuck my ass.”

Geoff fixed his gaze on Gavin now. “So, are you gonna stand there, or are you gonna, oh I don’t know, fucking help us?”

“What if I get stuck too?”

“You won’t get stuck, Frankenstein. I was resurrected by demonic magic and you were resurrected by science. You’ll be fine.”

The sewn-together undead eyed the pentagram nervously. “But _Michael…_ ”

“Don’t ‘Micool’ me! Just fucking _break_ it!” Michael lunged for Gavin and nearly fell over. “Fuck, this sucks serious ass!”

“Now you know how _I_ feel,” Geoff grumbled.

“Um…do you guys need some help?”

Michael attempted to turn around and saw that Ryan was standing behind them, looking a touch contrite. Now that there was no enraged werewolf to distract him, he noticed the scientist had, in fact, cleaned up since last he’d seen him, and even changed clothes. He was now wearing a black t-shirt emblazoned with an Erlenmeyer flask and calculator wielding stickman and the caption ‘Stand Back: I’m going to try Science,’ and a more faded pair of blue jeans. For the first time since they’d met the scientist had shaved; he looked much younger and less crazy without any sort of beard. He adjusted his glasses and bit his lip as Michael crossed his arms and glowered at him. “Get us out of this thing!”

“All right.” He walked forward and used the edge of his shoe to rub out the edge of the pentagram. The imaginary clamp released Michael’s ankle and he was able to stumble back and regain his balance. Geoff was also freed, and immediately strode toward Ryan. “Now, Geoff,” the scientist said nervously, “there’s really no need to be unreasonable…”

“Unreasonable? _Unreasonable?!_ I’ll tell _you_ who’s fucking unreasonable – the fucking scientist who not only put out fucking holding pentagrams to capture some poor, innocent demon like me, but fucking _fixed_ them so I could get captured _again!_ ”

“Isn’t ‘innocent demon’ an oxymoron?”

“…Seriously? _That’s_ what you took away from that?” Fire crackled on his arms and between his horns; even his tail was aglow with bluish-white flame. “I am going to curse the fucking _shit_ out of you.”

“Um, could you not?” The scientist backed away slowly, nervously eyeing the demon’s rising flames.

“Give me _one_ reason why I shouldn’t. I fucking _dare_ you.”

“I took out the werewolf! I saved your asses! You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“WOT ABOUT MY HAND?!” Gavin suddenly yelled. Both men jumped and looked over at him. “MY BLOODY HAND’S OFF AND YOU’RE SITTING HERE FAFFIN’ ABOUT CURSES AND SHITE!”

“Your hand’s…off?” Ryan squinted down at Gavin and saw how he cradled the detached limb to his chest. “When did _this_ happen?!”

“I was helping Michael and it fell off,” he whined. “Fix it, Ryan!”

Ryan sighed deeply. “If you could just hold off on cursing me, Geoff,” he told the demon, “that would be great, because apparently Gavin needs a hand.”

Geoff pursed his lips and raised one eyebrow. “I should curse you just for that pun.”

“What pu-” The scientist groaned when he thought back over what he’d said. “Aw, fuck, I didn’t even notice. Sorry, Gavin.”

“Just fix my bloody hand already.”

“All right, c’mon, let’s get you down to the lab.” Gavin stormed up the gravel path, Ryan following close behind him, Geoff hot on the scientist’s heels and Michael bringing up the rear. Geoff was still fuming; Michael could see coils of smoke and steam wafting from his ears.

They reentered the dreary, rundown house and walked through the hallway. The werewolf was currently lying in the middle of the living room floor, still completely out of it. “I thought you said you were gonna put him in a cage,” Michael pointed out.

“Werewolves aren’t exactly the lightest, um, creatures on the planet. That’s about as far as I could get.” The scientist stepped around the werewolf’s tail and kept on going.

“Fuck it, _I’ll_ get him. I’m the only one who seems to care, anyway.” Crouching down, Michael grabbed the werewolf’s bound paws and slung them over his shoulder. He grasped the fur on the beast’s lower back and stood up. It was surprisingly easy; the undead was just starting to cotton on to the fact that he was much stronger now in his unlife than he had been while truly living.

He hauled the werewolf through the house, grimacing as its hind paws hit pretty much everything between the living room and the entrance to the lab. Warm frothy drool dribbled from the werewolf’s open maw and onto Michael’s shoulder. While it wasn’t pleasant, Michael was willing to endure it for fifteen more feet. The door to the lab swung open and the party descended; there was a soft _thu-thump_ as the werewolf’s trailing paws slid down the stairs.

“Gavin, you sit down over there,” Ryan ordered as soon as they entered the lab. “Michael, follow me. Geoff…just don’t…don’t touch anything.”

Gavin sat down at a nearby table, his hand cradled against his chest. Geoff looked around at the slightly chaotic lab with an air of slight disapproval and marginal interest. Michael hefted the werewolf up so he was holding it more securely and followed after Ryan. The scientist was heading toward the heavy prison-style steel door; swallowing nervously, he trailed after Ryan, wondering what creations could be waiting behind the barred steel door.

With quite a bit of effort Ryan hauled the door open and stepped inside. The undead followed after him, his fingers tightening on the werewolf’s fur. Dim shapes moved in the darkness, and he saw eyes winking in and out of existence. Ryan hit something on the wall and a series of lights overhead flared into brilliant life.

Cages lined the walls, almost as far as the eye could see. Several were empty, but others were occupied by strange, twisted beasts. Despite his undead state, Michael felt like throwing up as he passed a chicken with three heads and some sort of deformed pig. “What…what the fuck is all _this?!_ ” he finally managed to ask.

“These guys are the results of my genetic experiments. Some of them worked, others, uh, didn’t.” Ryan stopped beside one of the larger empty cages. “Here we go. It can stay in here until sunup.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large key-ring with about a dozen different keys jangling on it. After flipping through the keys, Ryan found the one he was looking for and unlocked the door.

“Does he _have_ to go in this fucking cell, dude? I feel like he won’t come out again if he does, or worse he’ll come out all gross and fucking disgusting.”

“I would like to point out that I’m the only human here, and werewolves usually eat humans. Unless this werewolf is a vegetarian, it stays in the cage.”

“Sheesh, I get it.” Michael pulled the werewolf into the cage and laid him on the floor. “And I’m pretty sure he’s a fucking man, Ryan, so stop calling him an ‘it.’ Fucking rude asshole.”

As soon as Michael left the cage, Ryan pushed the door shut and locked it. “There. Should be good until morning. Um, maybe we should grab a blanket or tarp or something so that, uh, when he wakes up, we, uh, won’t see his…y’know…”

“What? Not into werewolf cock?”

“Not particularly, no.”

Ryan turned away and began to walk back to his lab. Michael was about to follow him when he heard a low chuffing sound from somewhere behind him. Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, he turned around and quietly walked back, checking on the werewolf as he passed his cage. The werewolf was still completely out of it, so what had made the sound?

Another, louder and more growly sound emerged as Michael drew near to the end of the corridor. Suddenly the hallway became wider and more round, almost like an arena. The cages on the walls were gone, and there was a single grate in the floor. Frightened yet still intrigued, the undead drew closer. Something was stomping about and letting out loud snorts; was this the creature who occasioned a loud, horrifying roar?

Upon reaching the edge of the grate, Michael crouched down and peeped between the iron bars. The pit they barricaded was deep and dark and smelled strongly of dung, rotten meat, blood and straw. He leaned closer, trying to get his supernatural sight to kick in.

A pair of glowing red eyes blinked open and fixed directly on Michael. He heard the chuffing again, followed by a loud snort. The creature moved about restlessly, tossing its head and stamping its feet. Then it let out a thunderous roar and leaped up; two apish hands clawed at the bars, narrowly missing Michael’s hands. He pushed himself back, eyes fixated upon the creature who was now in full sight.

If the creatures in the cells lining the walls were horrible, this one was downright terrifying. It had the head of an angry bull mounted upon a hairy, humanoid torso. It pawed the ground with its cloven feet while its tufted tail lashed angrily; staring up at Michael, the creature roared and jumped again. Five thick, powerful fingers poked through the holes in the iron bars for a split second before the creature fell back down with a colossal _thud_.

 _‘What the fuck is this shit?’_ Michael scooted back and away from the furious creature. His back hit something solid and he looked up. Ryan was staring down at him, arms crossed. Once again his glasses were doing the weird obscury thing.

“Really, Michael? I turn my back for _one_ second…” The scientist bent over and yanked the undead to his feet. “I assumed you _wouldn’t_ be stupid enough to bother Edgar; he’s not exactly the _nicest_ creature on the planet.” He shook his head and started pushing Michael toward the exit.

“…What is that….that _thing?_ ”

“Edgar,” Ryan repeated, as if that explained everything.

“But what the fuck _is_ Edgar?”

“He’s the one in the hole.”

“Ryan, I am this fucking close to punching you in the goddam face.”

“Man, _everybody_ is on my ass today. What the fuck did I do?”

“You’re a goddamn asshole. Now answer the question: What. The. Fuck. Is. Edgar?”

“He’s an old experiment of mine. One that went a little _too_ well, actually. I just wanted to make a minotaur.” Another roar sounded from behind them. “…and I did.”

“Why’s he all pissy, then? Did you not, like, wire his brain to make him your fucking slave?”

“Nah. That would probably have killed him. Anyway, bulls are always temperamental. I just have to figure out how to make him…not.”

Ryan proceeded to push Michael along, past all the cages and the strange, mutant animals within, and out of the barred door. He glanced back as the scientist heaved the door shut. Hopefully nothing would happen to the werewolf while they were gone.

Meanwhile, Gavin was impatiently rocking back and forth on the stool, clutching his detached hand like it was a talisman. Geoff was standing behind him, hands in his pockets and tail switching impatiently. “You got that werewolf locked up, then?” he demanded.

“Yup. Safe and sound.”

“Great. As long as it can’t get out.”

Ryan turned his attention to Gavin. “It won’t. How you doin’, Gavin?”

“Been better. Bloody hand’s still off.”

The scientist rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out the needle and surgical thread. “I’ll fix it. Give me your hand.”

Wide eyed, Gavin pulled his hand away from Ryan. “You’re not gonna use the needle, are you?”

“What – did you think I was gonna fucking superglue your hand back on? I have to sew it; it’s that or you’re the fucking one armed wonder.” Ryan leaned forward and grabbed Gavin’s wrist, forcing him to let go of his severed hand. “Now hold out your arm.”

“Christ, I _really_ don’t want to do this.” The sewn-together undead closed his eyes and looked away as he held out his stump. “Do it quickly, Ryan.”

“Just hold still…” After threading his needle, Ryan placed the end of the severed hand against Gavin’s wrist stump and began sewing them back together.

Gavin’s eyes squeezed even more tightly shut and his normal hand came up to cover his mouth. The normal half of his face had gone milky pale; he began shivering madly as Ryan meticulously stitched his hand back onto his wrist. Occasionally he let out a high whimpering squeal as the scientist tugged on the needle and thread.

“You are such a fucking baby, dude,” Michael told him. “You’re not even bleeding. You probably can’t even _feel_ it.”

“He’s already said he doesn’t like needles,” Ryan reminded him. “Some things don’t change, no matter what happens. I mean, look at you.” He stuck the needle in the lower part of Gavin’s wrist, somewhere between the ulna and radius. “Geoff said your temper was what made you famous on the Internet; from what I’ve seen, even though you’ve forgotten everything else, you remember how to be an angry asshole.”

“Fuck you, dickhead.”

“My point exactly.” Ryan pulled the stitch taut. “Halfway done, Gavin.”

“Hurry up, Ryan,” he moaned. “I can’t take the tension!”

“I can’t hurry up – this isn’t exactly something I can half-ass! If you want your hand to work properly, I have to go slow to make sure I do this _right._ ” He turned Gavin’s arm around so he could see and sew up the opposite half of his wrist. Gavin squirmed restlessly in his seat. “Will you stop moving?! I can’t exactly fix your arm when you're seizuring all over the place!”

“I’m so on edge!”

“I already said I’m halfway there: if you stop fidgeting, I’ll be finished _faster._ Keep on wigglin’ and we’re gonna be here for a while. So calm. Down.”

Michael rolled his eyes and walked over to Geoff. The demon was studying some of the machines on a nearby table. “This is fun,” he commented sarcastically.

“I know, right?” Geoff straightened up and glared around the lab. “Never really liked this place. Feels too… _confined,_ y’know?”

“Yeah, it does.” Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet. “…You know that werewolf?”

“What about it?”

“Ryan said we should get something for him to cover up with when the sun comes up.”

“Why should I care about this?”

“Do you _want_ to see some strange guy’s dick?”

“Point taken.”

“Anyway, I remembered he had a bag full of clothes back in the park, but they got left behind when shit started going down. I was wondering if maybe you could do your nether shit and get ‘em.”

Geoff made a face. “Why me?”

“Cause you know your way around the place and you can do that nether walk shit. Besides, I feel bad enough about kidnapping this fuck already; I don’t want to add ‘forced to be fucking naked’ to the list of shit we’ve done to the guy.”

The demon twirled his mustache with one claw. “I _suppose_ you’re right,” he sighed. “And it’ll give me a chance to think of something to do to Ryan.”

“You still mad, then?”

“Of course I’m still fucking mad! I give him you to look after and he goes around blowing shit up! Plus he’s just an asshole.” He shrugged and moved away. “Be right back. Don’t let him blow anything else up, all right?” And with that, Geoff was gone.

Meanwhile, Ryan was finishing up with Gavin’s hand, which was good as the Brit looked like he was about to faint and fall right out of his chair. “You are _seriously_ a huge fucking pussy,” he said. “You’ve had your eyes closed the _entire_ time, and you’re _still_ fucking pale as fuck.”

Gavin ignored him. “Is it over yet?” he asked.

Ryan let out a sigh. “For the _thousandth_ time, I am _almost fucking done!_ Be patient for _one_ second and it’ll be over! Jesus!” He finished the last stitch and tied off the thread. Using a nearby scalpel he cut the thread and examined his handiwork. “Looks good. All right, you’re fucking _done_ now. Happy?”

Hesitantly Gavin cracked an eye open and looked down at his wrist. “Oh…sweet. Looks all right, Ryan.”

“Yeah, thanks. Does your hand actually work, or is it just dead weight?”

Gavin held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Yeah. Feels weird, but yeah.”

“You’re just going to have to get used to it, Gavin. Everything about you is weird.” The scientist tucked the spool and needle back into his pocket and stood up. “In the future, be more careful, all right?”

“Yeah, all right.” Gavin hopped off the stool and practically bounced over to Michael. “Hi, Michael.”

“Hi, Gavin.”

He looked around. “Where’s Geoff?”

“Left to go get the werewolf’s clothes?”

“Clothes? Why does a werewolf have clothes?”

“Obviously the werewolf right now isn’t wearing clothes, but when he turns human again, he’ll probably want some fucking pants.”

Gavin considered this. “If he does, then would he be a _wear_ wolf?”

“He already is a-” Michael realized what Gavin meant; he and Ryan groaned at the same time. “That was _so_ fucking lame.” The sewn-together undead let out a weak laugh. “Seriously, just get out.”

“Sorry, Michael.” He put his hands in his pockets and at least looked abashed. “Where is the werewolf, anyway?”

“Back in Ryan’s weird murder hall.”

“Murder hall? What?”

“Hey, _nothing_ has ever died in there,” Ryan objected. “It’s purely storage.”

“Fine, he’s in Ryan’s weird _prison_ hall. Happy now?”

“Sort of.”

“I don’t care. Anyway, Ryan and Geoff wanted the werewolf to be locked up until sunrise. They’re fucking scared shitless of it.”

“Wha – you should be fucking scared, too! Werewolves aren’t exactly sweet little puppies, dude. They fucking _eat_ people.”

“This one _was_ like a puppy, though. It was fucking hugging me and shit.”

The scientist looked positively taken aback. “Really? I mean, I get that it wouldn’t like the undead, but wolves don’t usually like anything that isn’t part of the pack. Hmm…” He bit his lip and looked down for a second. “…maybe…he’s…somebody you knew when you were alive?”

“I didn’t know any fucking werewolves!”

“It’s not like you would notice if he _was._ They only change once or twice a month. Besides, he might _not_ have been a werewolf for long.”

Michael considered this. “Doesn’t matter either way. I still wouldn’t fucking know. I’ve got bits and fucking pieces of memories, not a whole picture.”

“True.”

“What about the werewolf?” Gavin asked. “I mean, when he’s all normal and shite.”

Ryan frowned. “Hadn’t thought about that. I _really_ don’t have enough room to board another one of you fuckers.”

“It’s not like he’d want to stay here even if you _wanted_ to keep him,” Michael said. “He’s probably got his own place, anyway.”

“I _hope_ he does.”

“ _I_ just hope he gets out of here before you start turning him into a fucking pincushion.”

“I’ll only do it if he consents.”

Michael grimaced. “You totally want to, don’t you.”

“A little.”

“You fucking weirdo.”

Gavin, who was beginning to get bored, wandered off and started prodding a bubbling beaker balanced precariously over a Bunsen burner. “What’s this?” he asked. “Some more mad sciencey things?”

Ryan turned just in time to see the beaker scoot to the edge of the mesh holder, wobble as if to wave farewell, and topple to the ground with a _crash_. “Gavin, what the _hell?!_ ” He ran over and crouched beside the pile of broken glass. “That took me a fucking _week_ to make! You piece of shit!”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” he chanted, like he was a small child facing the wrath of a parent. “It was just _there!_ I wanted to see what it was!”

“Since when do you look _with your fucking hands?!_ ” the scientist yelled. He leaped up and grabbed something from another table. It looked like an elongated nightstick with bare wires all over it. He took a deep breath and pushed up his glasses with his free hand. “I, uh, think….it would be in your best interests…if you left. Right now.” His suddenly calm tone of voice made the hairs on the back of Michael’s neck stand up.

“Uh…” Gavin retreated, glancing back toward the exit.

Ryan toggled a switch on the end of the nightstick. A light humming started up and a few miniscule blue sparks jumped between the wires. “ _Now._ ” He took a step forward.

Letting out a shriek of fear the sewn-together undead fled the lab. He shot up the stairs like a rocket and disappeared; Michael heard the steel door upstairs slam shut with a colossal _WHAM._ “Jesus, dude, was that really fucking necessary?” he commented.

“I think he got the point,” Ryan said. “Still, if the fucker breaks one more thing, I’m beating his ass.” He turned the zappy stick off and set it aside. “I’m going to have to start over again. Motherfucker.”

“What _was_ that, anyway?”

“Just a little something I’ve been working on for a while.”

“Will you ever stop being a vague motherfucker? At any point?”

“Nah.”

At that moment, the hairs on the back of Michael’s neck stood up; he looked around and saw Geoff materialize into existence. He was holding the Ziploc bag under one arm. “I’m back. Did I miss anything?”

* * *

 

It took some doing, but Michael managed to convince Ryan to let him stay with the werewolf. He felt really bad for the guy, even if the others didn’t, and he felt responsible for it being locked up. Besides, if Ryan was right and they _did_ know each other…well, that would change things considerably. In any case, if he was here when the werewolf woke up, while he hoped it would keep him calmer, it would probably make things worse. _‘Either I scare the shit out of him because I’m a stranger watching over a prisoner, or I scare the shit out of him by being alive when I shouldn’t be. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.’_ Feeling just a little bit stupid, Michael settled in for the night.

Sometime later, the werewolf began to stir. It let out a low groan and stretched languidly. Its movements were slow and jerky: a staple of recovering from anesthesia. Paws scrabbling for purchase, it tried to push itself back to its feet, but its legs were too weak to support it, and the slippery concrete floor didn’t help at all. Tremulously, it cracked open an eyelid; Michael could see that its eye had gone back from angry yellow to dark brown. It groaned again and rolled onto its side, having given up on the idea of rising.

“I’m sorry,” Michael told it. “I dragged you into this mess. I mean, some of it was your fault too, but mostly it was me.” He retrieved something from beside him and set it by the steel door. “Got this for you. It ain’t much, but…it’s something, I guess.”

The werewolf lifted its head and sniffed at the bag Michael had placed beside the bars. Its tail wagged once before lying motionless on the floor. It looked like it was about to fall back asleep again. _‘Poor fuck. What fucking drugs did Ryan put in that tranquilizer to make it so fucking potent? Jesus.’_

Michael leaned back against the bars of the cage opposite the werewolf’s and closed his eyes. It had been such a long night, longer than any he’d had in his unlife so far. There had been such promise, too; Geoff took him and Gavin out for the first time since their respective resurrections and they’d been so happy to breathe the outside air. Then came the calamity with the werewolf, and now it was in a cage and Geoff was mad at Ryan and Ryan was mad at Geoff and everybody was mad at Gavin. _‘What a fucking mess…’_

He began to drift into sleep, and for the first time in his unlife, he dreamed. As far as dreams went, this was the Vine of dreams; all that was featured in it was the moon. Not the moon as he’d seen it tonight, but a moon barely showing its face, hiding behind a mask of shadow. It loomed in the darkness, staring down at him, watching something he couldn’t see. Watching, watching, always watching, a silent observer, always watching, never doing. Slowly, tauntingly, a black cloud drifted over the moon, hiding even the tiny sliver of silver light from view and returning his dream to the darkness he was used to.

Then he heard a gun’s shots. One shot. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Michael jerked awake and hit the back of his head on the steel bars. Swearing madly he rubbed it, eyes still tightly closed. While rubbing the smarting spot on the back of his head, he thought about the dream he’d just had. _‘The fuck was **that?** What the hell was any of that supposed to mean? Fucking Donnie Darko made more sense than that. Bullshit ass dream.’_

Still grumbling, he opened his eyes, looked around, and promptly got the shock of his life. A young, vaguely Hispanic man stared back at him from inside the werewolf’s cage. He was completely nude; he’d crossed his legs and placed his hands in his lap to cover his junk. For a guy who’d woken up having no idea where he was, he looked surprisingly calm. Upon seeing Michael gawking at him, he inclined his head. “S’up.”

“Uh…” Michael looked a little more closely at the guy, specifically his head. His black hair was short but still shaggy somehow and stuck up in little cowlicked tufts. Practically all of his lower face and neck were covered in a month’s worth of ungroomed beard. Most striking of all were his ears; they were pointed like an elf’s, or like Geoff’s, and covered in a layer of downy brown fuzz. Michael’s little nap had been much longer than he’d anticipated – the werewolf they’d captured had returned to human form, or pseudo-human form. He was still so fucking calm, though; it was almost unnerving. “…hi,” he finally managed.

The now human werewolf squinted at him. “Wait a second…” He made as if to move closer, but stayed put to keep his privates private. “Are you…nah, I’m fucking retarded…”

“Here.” Michael wedged his clothes through the bars.

The werewolf reached out and patted the Ziploc bag. “How the fuck – never mind, I’m not even going to ask.” Unzipping the bag with one hand, he retrieved his glasses case and managed to work it open with the same hand and got his glasses on his face. Blinking to clear his vision he turned back to Michael. Unexpectedly, upon seeing the undead sitting in front of him, the werewolf went ghostly white. “Okay, I’m dreaming, right? This is a fucking dream.”

“Sorry, dude. You’re a werewolf and you’re in a cage. It’s real.” Michael couldn’t help but feel there was something familiar about this guy, especially now that he could see his dark brown eyes. Trying to remember, well, _anything_ really, was like trying to bob for apples; just when he thought he had it, it slipped out of reach, and he ended up out of breath and worse off than before. It was really starting to piss him off.

“I’ve been a werewolf for two years now, I’ve fucking accepted it.” The werewolf shook his head. “It’s just…Michael, how are you alive?”

He blinked. “How…do you know my name?”

“Uh, I think you told me. Remember?”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“That’s rude.” The werewolf actually looked hurt. “I just… _how?_ How are you alive? I saw your coffin and shit; you were _so_ dead. Were you just going for the super douchey fakeout, or what?”

“Um…” Michael rubbed the back of his head, and his pinky brushed against the chain of the pendant Geoff had given him the night before. In all the fuss and bother of the night before, he’d forgotten to take it off. Looping his fingers beneath the chain, he pulled it over his head and out from under his clothes. As soon as he set it aside the werewolf’s eyebrows raised considerably. “I’m not alive. Haven’t been for a while now.”

The werewolf stared for a second before shrugging slightly in acceptance. “So…does that make you a zombie?”

Michael frowned. “No.”

“Listen, you’re a dead body that rose from the grave and is walking around and shit. That makes you a zombie, right?”

“I am _not_ a zombie!” Michael snapped. “I can still think and shit!”

“Whoa, calm down.” The werewolf held up a hand to pacify the undead, but not before shifting the other one to more securely cover his dick. “Wasn’t trying to insult you.”

“Whatever.” Michael stared at him, still trying to connect the dots. “I _know_ I know you from somewhere…I just don’t know _where_.”

The werewolf looked sad again. “Do you really not remember?”

“Not…particularly…” Michael slowed down as something finally came back to him. He remembered a metro ticket from New Jersey to New York, crowded, filthy streets, getting kicked out of a restaurant for having a camera, a dead rat on the sidewalk, and a final goodbye at the station… The name and the face swam up through the darkness, and he stared at the young man in realization. “Wait a second… _Ray?_ ”

“S’up,” Ray repeated.

“But…how…what…when the fuck did you become a _werewolf?!_ ” It wasn’t the question Michael wanted to ask, but it was all he could think of at the moment.

“Two years ago, man. Thought I saw a dog…wasn’t a dog. In the slightest.”

“Sucks, man.” Michael cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “Now that that’s all done, you think you want to get some fucking pants on?”

“Just when I was getting comfortable.” Still, Michael heard Ray rummaging through the bag, and respectfully kept staring at a spot on the floor. Several of the other animals were making sounds now, and from down the hallway he could hear Edgar snorting again.

“I’m good.” He turned and saw that Ray was fully clothed in checkered Vans, blue jeans and t-shirt. “Now, while I’ve always dreamed of being locked up, I _really_ wouldn’t mind if you let me out of here.” He glanced around nervously; upon seeing some of the messed up creatures he drew back. “Okay, fucking changed my mind – get me out!”

Michael pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll have to get the keys from Ryan, hold on.”

“Who the fuck is Ryan?”

Michael shrugged. “Not much, just your average, everyday mad scientist.”

“All right then. Wait, what-” At that point, Michael had walked through the door, and its closing cut off Ray’s inquiry. With a stretch and a yawn, Michael proceeded to seek out Ryan so his friend could be freed. Idly, he wondered if he and Geoff had managed to work out their dispute.

 _‘Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen.’_ With that thought Michael walked back into the lab, looking for a certain mad scientist.


	11. Pawsitively Swamped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael reconnects with Ray, and Jack leaves home.

When Michael finally located Ryan, he was sitting in front of his three security monitors, head resting on the keyboard, fast asleep. A black text box was open on the far left screen; an endless parade of q’s marched across the screen, q after q after q. Poor bastard must’ve gone another night without sleep, possibly trying to replace whatever Gavin had ruined last night. Without his oh-so-precious Diet Coke to fuel him, the scientist had probably succumbed quite easily to sleep – easily enough to use a keyboard as a pillow, in any case. Unaware of his sudden company Ryan snoozed on, glasses sliding down his nose yet again.

Michael considered his options, and decided that the urge was too great. Like before he lifted his foot and kicked the edge of the chair. Unlike before, there was no wall to save Ryan this time; he and the chair both crashed to the hard cement floor. The keyboard was jerked off the table and dangled forlornly about two feet off the ground. By the time he hit the ground the scientist was already wide awake, but it was too late to do anything to save himself. His glasses sailed off his face and skittered away as he slammed against the ground.

“Don’t you have any _nicer_ way to wake people?” he complained as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Dude, you were _so_ asking for it. Maybe if you sleep in a fucking bed it’ll stop happening.” Fighting the urge to smirk and failing miserably, Michael crossed his arms and stepped back. “Anyway, I need you to open Ray’s cage.”

“Who?”

“It’s morning, dumbass.”

“It’s – _oh!_ Shit, was I really asleep for-”

“Yeah, yeah, you fell asleep without realizing it, been there, done that, bought the fucking t-shirt. Get your fucking keys and fucking let him out, Ryan!”

“All right! Jesus! It wasn’t like I was going to keep him in there forever!” Ryan pushed himself to his feet and squinted around. “Uh, you didn’t happen to see where my glasses went, did you?”

“I am surrounded by fucking blind assholes,” Michael grumbled, but obligingly started looking around for the glasses. He finally found them underneath the machine parts table, picked them up and flung them in Ryan’s general direction. They ended up bouncing off the back of his head and landing on his desk. “Found ‘em.”

“Funnily enough, I noticed.” Ryan gingerly picked up his glasses and examined them. Upon finding that they were undamaged, he put them back on and blinked. “Well, at least you didn’t break anything.”

“Whatever.”

Ryan stretched before heading off toward the barred door. Michael followed close behind him, impatience written in every step he took. A tangible link to his life was sitting behind bars; for the first time in days he felt excited, excited enough to almost feel alive. He was almost stepping on the heels of Ryan’s shoes, he was walking so fast.

Hauling the huge steel door open, Ryan stepped inside and walked briskly to where Ray was locked up. The werewolf was sitting in the middle of the cell, lost in thought, but he looked up when he heard them approaching. They eyed each other warily, each wondering what the other was thinking. “Um, hi,” the scientist finally said.

“S’up,” Ray greeted. “You gonna let me out, or…”

“Hang on.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket and quickly unlocked the door. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” Ray pushed himself to his feet, but wobbled dangerously and nearly fell over. “Oh, Jesus.”

Michael elbowed past Ryan and helped steady him. “The fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Feel really fucking dizzy all of a sudden.” The werewolf rubbed his forehead. “Like I’m all sick or some shit.”

Michael glared at Ryan. “You want to start explaining, Jekyll?”

“Uh…not really…”

“C’mon, Ray, I’ll give you the short version. Leave this fuck to his work.” The undead guided the werewolf out of the cell, past the scientist and through the heavy door.

“Man, something is not right. Did somebody slip me something? Am I high right now?”

“…All right, I’ll start explaining. We were out in downtown Austin last night – me and some… _friends,_ I mean – and we came across a park just off 7th Street.”

“I was in that park! It’s where I usually go when the full moon rolls around.”

“I know you were in that park; that’s where I met you as a fucking furball werewolf.” They reached the stairs at that moment, and Michael helped the still weakened werewolf to climb them.

“Right. That makes sense. Still doesn’t explain how I got here.”

Michael shrugged. “You attacked Geoff, who’s a…he’s a fucking demon.”

“Demon? For real? Like, fire and brimstone and shit?”

“Not so much brimstone, but definitely fire. Anyway, he brought us all here with his demon teleport shit, and Ryan fucking shot you with a tranquilizer.”

“What sort of fucking tranquilizer? Fucking extract of roofie?”

“He said something about amphi-shit and wolfsbane.”

“Wolfsbane? Jesus, no _shit_ I’ve been feeling sick.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Maybe not for you, but is sure as shit is for werewolves like me.” Ray shook his head and let it drop. “Just being _near_ it is enough to fuck me over.”

Michael looked over at him, concerned. “You gonna be all right?”

“Could be worse.”

They walked into the kitchen and out into the living room. Ray looked around in disgust. “This house is shit. Does he really live here?”

“He lives here, and so does Gavin, and so do I. Three guys fucking cooped up in an ancient fucking shithole. I’m surprised one of us isn’t dead yet.” He led Ray over to the couch and let him sit down. “Last night was the first night me and Gavin got to go outside.”

“Why? Does Ryan-”

“It’s not him. Well, okay, it’s sort of him, but I mean, we’re fucking _monsters,_ Ray. Do you think we could fucking go out in public like this? Until Geoff came along and gave us his magic pendant shit, we were stuck.”

“Sounds great, and by great I mean fucking awful.”

“I know!”

Ray took a deep breath and immediately looked like he was about to puke. “Dear God, how do you deal with the _smell?_ ”

“What smell?”

He sniffed several more times and grimaced. “It smells like something fucking _died_ in here.” His lip curled back slightly, and Michael saw that his eyeteeth were elongated like a vampire’s.

“Man, we’ve changed since we last met, huh?”

“Yeah, no shit.”

They sat in silence for a long while, each thinking about the last time they’d seen each other face to face. They’d both been human then, with no idea about how their lives would change forever. One cursed to live without living, the other to transform into a beast when the moon showed its face in full. What’d they done to deserve something like this?

It was really kind of bullshit.

* * *

 

Dawn rose, pale and bright, for the last time over the bogs. Already the machines were rolling in, trampling grass and shrub beneath wide treads, ferrying in the dreaded pumps. Animals of all shapes and sizes fled from the noisy beasts as they thundered to a halt at the edge of the bog. Men clambered down from inside and began setting up the pumps, yelling orders left and right. Soon the hoses were inserted into the waters and started sucking the bog dry.

Only one bog-dweller stayed to watch this sad event. From behind a distant willow tree, already feeling the harsh sun drying his veil of weeds, Jack watched as the bog’s waterline slowly sank. As Geoff had said, the construction workers had come to drain the bog and start leveling it for construction. Its time, already short, had run out sooner than he’d expected. Now he stood upon the hill and sadly watched the destruction of his home.

When the water in that section was gone, the swamp monster turned away and plodded off. There was no point staying here anymore; not even a crawdad would be able to survive in this place. As he walked, Jack thought back on what Geoff had told him, and decided that he would go to Austin, as he’d suggested. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to find somewhere to live.

Just getting to the interstate was a long, arduous journey. Jack supposed he should be glad he remembered the way, at least, but his trailing weeds kept snagging on roots and branches, and the bracken bit at his webbed feet. It was with a small amount of joy that he reached the long stretch of paved road. Keeping to the shadows, he started on the next leg of his trip.

Eventually, Jack realized Geoff had been right about one other thing: if he was going to travel, he was going to need some clothes. His reeds, while lovely in the bogs he was accustomed to, were drying quickly in the Texas heat and flaking away. Unless he found some sort of covering, there would soon be a rather unclothed swamp monster walking down the interstate. Shuddering at the thought, he picked up the pace.

Around noon, luck came to him in the form of a small town, or, more specifically, the Goodwill donation box outside of that town’s Wal-Mart. When he was sure nobody was looking the swamp monster hurried over to the box, grabbed a wad of clothes and darted into the surrounding foliage. He felt awful stealing the clothes, but he was in need, and they were for the needy, after all. The only clothes in the pile that would fit him were a white t-shirt, a blue plaid lumberjack type shirt, and a pair of khaki cargo shorts. Brushing away the rest of the dead reeds, Jack dressed quickly and wandered back into the parking lot, where he examined himself in the side mirror of a pristine Hummer.

It had been quite some time since he’d seen his own face. His skin was surprisingly pale and flecked with green scales. Green algae stubbornly clung to his hair and beard, dyeing the ends of the red hairs bright green. Where normal people had ears, Jack had his webbed fins, which also happened to be his gills. He spent a moment waggling them, laughing as they bounced and bobbed in the reflection. Then he tore himself away and moved on. Clothed or no, people would still raise a fuss at the sight of a swamp monster playing with his reflection.

Hours passed, and Jack kept on moving. He was starting to feel hot and dry; a sure sign that he was dehydrated. Honestly, he was surprised he’d lasted this long without water. He supposed he should have stopped sooner, but the only ponds or lakes he’d seen so far were in full view of the public eye, and he was still sort of trying to keep incognito. At this point, though, he would have thrown himself into a swimming pool if it meant getting water.

Eventually he managed to soak himself in the runoff from a gas station car wash. Not ideal, but it was better than nothing. Feeling at least a little bit better, Jack pressed on. He was fairly certain some of the bored kids in the waiting cars had spotted him, but at least their stories would sound like a fantasy – like anyone would believe a fish man was walking around, even if it was true. Still, he didn’t want to risk discovery, so on he went.

Three days passed in much the same fashion; the swamp monster followed the highway, finding water and eating where he could, sleeping only when he could find shelter. Jack hadn’t spent this long outside of water for quite some time, and it felt very odd. The ‘borrowed’ clothing itched tremendously; he longed for his reeds and weeds. Hopefully he’d find some place in Austin to live. Hopefully.

On the evening of the third day, he saw the familiar Austin skyline in the distance. Finally feeling as though his journey would have an end, Jack hurried along, eager to find somewhere to settle down, even if only temporarily.

As the sun went down behind the city’s skyline, the swamp monster found the bank of a wide river. While it was a lot larger and cleaner than his beloved bog, it was better than nothing. Slowly Jack descended and entered the water. Ah, _this_ was better; for the first time in quite some time he let himself relax and sink. The plants lining the bottom of the river tickled his feet, and he reached down to play with one trailing weed.

“Yay,” he sang quietly.


	12. A Meeting Gone Lad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin meets Ray, and Geoff comes back. He's not exactly happy, either.

Since Ray was still sick, he settled down on the couch for the time being and rested. Michael eventually handed him one of the Xbox controllers, and Ray promptly downloaded a demo of Tetris. He spent a good chunk of time on the game, which he was very good at; the blocks fell at a rate that made Michael’s head spin, yet they never got further than halfway up the screen. If it had been Michael playing…chances were the controller would end up embedded in the wall.

Leaving Ray to his game for the time being, Michael decided to look for Gavin. He hadn’t seen him since Ryan chased him out of the lab, and despite their frequent squabbles he was growing a tiny bit fond of the British fuck. For the past week he hadn’t had anyone else to hang out with, so it was only natural that he should at least sort of tolerate the one person he could chill with.

As it turned out, Gavin had taken refuge in the upstairs guestroom, and had yet to wake up. He lay on top of the dusty bedcovers, curled up in a small ball, one green-gray forearm covering his eyes. _‘Lazy prick.’_ Michael rolled back on his heels for a moment before leaping onto the bed. With a creak of rusty bedsprings, the sewn-together undead was launched into the air, and landed on the ground with a loud squawk.

“You awake now?” the undead asked in a very smug sort of way.

“What the bollocking tit was that for, Michael?” Gavin complained. “I’ve had it with bein’ bullied by you and Ryan, I swear.”

“It’s not bullying to wake you up, Gavin. It’s called waking you up. Anyway, R-the werewolf’s shifted back now; thought you’d wanna say hello.”

“Really?” Gavin pushed himself off the floor. “He’s all not-wolf?”

“Y’know you could’ve just asked if he was human.”

“But is he?”

Michael sighed. “Yes, fucktard, he’s normal again.”

There was a pause, and then Gavin was bounding past him. Michael only just managed to snag the back of his t-shirt. “Where d’you think you’re going, asshole?”

“To say hello, Michael.”

“Can you at least _try_ to be calm, dude? You’re not exactly a regular guy yourself; you’re gonna freak him the fuck out when he sees you.”

“Why? Didn’t he see me yesterday?”

“As a fucking wolf, dude. I’m not a fucking expert, but I’m fairly certain he doesn’t remember shit he saw when he was a wolf. And even if he did, do you seriously think he’d be like, ‘Oh, there’s a reanimated corpse walking around. Cool.’ No! He’d fucking flip his shit!” Michael dragged Gavin out of the room and shut the door. “Let’s try to be careful for a change, Gavin. Give the guy a good first impression.”

Gavin considered this for a second. “So…what’s the plan, then?”

“I’ll go first and introduce you. Then you can come in and show him how non-threatening you are, and we’ll be good.”

“Non-threatening? Not sure if I should be insulted or what.” He plodded along after Michael and crossed his arms. “You trying to be funny, Michael?”

“No. I meant it. You are most definitively not a fucking threat.”

“Why not? I’m scary, aren’t I? I’m Frankenstein, right?”

“The original Frankenstein was fucking scary; you’re some poor bastardization of Frankenstein, dude. You’re like Frankenstein if he was a puny British twink.” They descended the stairs two at a time; Michael could just picture the Brit glowering at the back of his head. “What I’m getting at is you’re not like Frankenstein at all.”

“I get it, Michael, sheesh,” The sewn-together undead huffed. “Let’s go say hi to the werewolf.”

The two undead walked into the living room. Ray was still playing Tetris; his gaze flicked briefly over Michael and Gavin before returning to the screen. “Hey, Ray,” Michael greeted.

The werewolf paused the game and looked at them. “What’s going on?” he returned.

Michael pushed the other undead forward. “This is Gavin, Ray. He’s, uh, the other housemate here. Ryan made him.”

“You mean like Frankenstein?”

“Yeah, like Frankenstein, but if Frankenstein was-”

“All right, I get it, Michael! Bloody hell.” Gavin moved forward and looked down at Ray. “Hullo, Ray.”

“Hi, Gavin.”

They stared at each other. Ray still seemed terribly unsurprised by the appearance of yet another undead; perhaps his sudden case of lycanthropy had been enough to awaken him to the existence of another world beyond the mundane. God knew Michael was still getting surprised every day, though he didn’t know why. One day he would get used to a supernatural life. One day.

“You’re all fuzzy,” Gavin commented.

“Yeah. It’s a wolf thing.” Ray looked Gavin up and down. “You’re all…Frankensteiny.”

“Good comeback, Ray.”

“Yeah, I thought it was pretty sweet.” Ray turned his attention back to the Xbox. “You guys both live here?”

“For the time being.” Michael leaned against the arm of the couch and watched as Ray guided each block down the screen. “Until something else comes up, y’know.”

“I mean, I understand Gavin living here, seeing as he’s Ryan’s creation or whatever-”

“I’m not-”

“Shut up, Gavin!” Michael snapped.

“But I’m not!”

“You totally are, so shut the fuck up and get over it. You’ll feel better.”

“Like I was saying,” Ray continued, a mite testily, “I understand Gavin living here, but why are _you_ here, Michael?”

He shrugged. “Geoff said I couldn’t go anywhere else.”

“Couldn’t you just go back to Lindsay?”

Michael blinked. “Couldn’t I go back to who?”

Ray looked over at him. Ignoring the fact that the blocks were now piling in the middle of the screen without rhyme or reason, he stared at Michael, looking positively dumbfounded. “You’re joking, right? That was a fucking joke, right?”

“Um…no?”

“Seriously? You forgot-”

At that precise moment, Michael sensed something behind him; turning, he saw Geoff materialize in the middle of the living room. He had several shopping bags looped over his arms and a thunderous look on his face. “You’d better shut the fuck up, werewolf,” he told Ray. Blue-white fire consumed his horns and burned at his tail tip. “You’re treading on thin fucking ice, dude.”

Michael goggled at him. “First off, that was seriously fucking rude – his name is Ray, not ‘werewolf’. Second, _how_ the fuck did you manage to hear that from wherever you were? Third, what’s with the fucking bags?”

“You been shopping or something?” Gavin added.

Geoff glared sullenly at the lot of them. “Just trust me on this – it’s better if you don’t probe into that shit. This,” he shook the bags, “is a fuckton of food. Since Ryan’s being a fucking obsessive scientist bitch, I’ve elected to get some essentials. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“What sort of ‘essentials?’” Michael asked.

“Just some easily preparable stuff.”

Ray paused the game and leaned forward. “I don’t s’pose you got any sort of meat products…”

“I have a few. Why? Aren’t you going home soon?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I just stop fucking eating.”

The demon shrugged. “If it’s all right with Ryan, fine. You can gorge yourself on meat.” He walked over to the table and let the bags down. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Then he walked into the kitchen, tail switching nonchalantly behind him. Curiosity aroused, Michael followed him. Gavin moved to follow Michael, and Ray pushed himself off the couch so he could follow Gavin.

Geoff was standing next to the steel door leading to the lab. He stared at the door jamb, his forked tongue flicking out from between his teeth. Slowly he grinned and held up a finger. One white spark jumped from his finger and squeezed into the space between the door and its frame. A second passed and then the door swung open with an affirmative beep. “Fuck yeah,” he purred. “This is for the fucking holding pentagrams, you sack of shit.” He held out a hand; a ball of fire burst into sudden life between his fingers. Taking a stance akin to that of a bowler’s, he pitched his hand back and tossed the fireball down the stairs.

The three lads watched as the fireball bounced silently down the stairs, disappearing into the darkness. Geoff counted down from five on his fingers. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero-

A surprised yell reverberated from the lab. Geoff let out a satisfied laugh and sauntered away. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.”

Michael peered into the darkness. “What did you _do?_ ”

“Aw, it’s nothing, don’t worry. Just a little curse to remind that bastard that just because I’m super fucking awesome doesn’t mean I’m less of a demon.” Geoff grinned, showing off his jagged fangs. “This is going to be so beautiful.”

There was the sound of feet pounding up the stairs, and Michael saw Ryan storming up toward them, with glasses askew and a face like thunder. “What the fucking _hell?_ ” he yelled. “What was _that_ for?” He stomped up to Geoff and stared down at him. “Jesus, Geoff, _why_ would you do that?!”

“I told you a thousand fucking times I was going to curse you – did you think I didn’t mean it? Think again, asshole.”

“You’ve curph – _cursed_ me?!” The scientist looked aghast. “Wait, what was that? That wasn’t me. What the hell?”

“Tongue tying curse, dude.” Geoff looked as smug as the cat who swallowed the canary. “You’ll stumble over just about every single word you say. At least until it wears off…which it won’t for a good long while.”

Ryan looked like he’d just been informed that a close relative had died. “But… _why?!_ ”

“For being a dick. Be less of a dick, and I _might_ consider taking it off.” Geoff shrugged. “It’s a slim chance, but I’ll allow it.”

The scientist now looked like a puppy in the midst of being punished. His shoulder slumped and he hung his head. “Aw, I’m sorry, Geoff.”

The demon backed away, looking outraged. “Don’t you fucking try to guilt your way out of it! I’m not gonna fall for it, I swear to God! Seriously, I’m not gonna do it!”

Ray leaned over and quietly asked, “Does anybody else find it weird that a demon is swearing anything to God?”

“Maybe it’s just funny?” Gavin pondered.

“That’s probably it,” Michael agreed. “I can’t see any other fucking reason.”

“All right, now you’re just being a fucking poor sport,” Geoff was complaining in the meantime. Ryan just looked at him and kept his mouth shut. “Seriously, that’s not cool. I knew you were an asshole, but this is just a new level of asshattery.” The scientist flipped him off and crossed his arms. “Stop being a dick, dickhead.”

“Did you not expect this to happen?” Michael asked. “Stop the fucking presses – Ryan found a way out of your little curse.”

“Just put another one on him,” Ray suggested.

Alarm flashed in Ryan’s eyes as Geoff considered this. “That’s an interesting idea…ah, but you’re not supposed to double up on curses. That shit’s Magic 101. Can wreck some serious shit if you’re not careful.” He shrugged. “This works too, I guess. Silent Ryan. Not as funny as Stumble-Over-Every-Word Ryan, but it’ll do.” He moved back into the dining room and started going through the bags. “Fucking bullshit.”

His attention having been drawn to the bags, Ryan walked over and examined them. “The fuck’s all this shit?”

“Since you’re taking care of a whole bunch of strapping young men, I thought I would be fucking nice and buy some shit. Again, you’re fucking welcome.”

“Not that I don’t appresh-appreth…not that I don’t mind, but-”

“If you don’t mind, shut the fuck up. No buts.” The demon started emptying the bags, then turned to glare at the others. “So are you guys gonna help me, or what?”

Ray, Michael and Gavin all moved forward and started pawing through the bags. “Also,” Geoff mentioned as they pulled out boxes of cereal and TV dinners, “at some point, you’re gonna have to clean your fucking house, Ryan, cause right now it’s a cockroach’s wet dream.”

“…I was gonna do it,” the scientist grumbled. “Evenshu-eventually.”

“Right. ‘Eventually.’ Sure.” Geoff scoffed and shook his head. “Tell me something: when was the last time you either ate or slept?”

“Uh-”

“Took too long to answer, therefore it’s not an answer I’d like.” The demon drew back and watched as the three younger men moved into the kitchen and started bickering about where everything should go. “You really need to straighten yourself the fuck out, man. You seriously will crash and burn one day, and I won’t always be there to pull your ass out of the fire.”

“You’re always so inspiring, Geoff,” Ryan commented sarcastically.

“And you’re always a fucking asshole.” He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the kitchen table. “Seriously, though, fucking take care of yourself.”

The scientist leaned back and crossed his arms. “How the fuck am I supposed to take care of myself with these fucks,” he gestured to Ray, Michael and Gavin, “living here?”

“It’s not like they’re hell-hounds,” Geoff replied. “As long as they can eat and sleep, they won’t fucking bother you.”

Ryan rubbed the side of his head ruefully. “Yeah, right.”

“Aw, get over it. It’s all part of being a parent.” Geoff pulled out his iPhone and started tapping on the screen. “Though I’d think you’d-” He stopped suddenly; his tail froze for a moment before thrashing about agitatedly. “Oh, _fuck_.”

“What? What’s the matter?” Ryan moved to look over Geoff’s shoulder. “What happened, Geoff?” He quickly scanned the phone’s screen. Behind his glasses, his eyes widened. “…well, shit.”

Meanwhile, the lads had finished putting the groceries away. “What now?” Michael asked.

“I sort of just want to go home,” said Ray. “I’m done.”

“Aw, but Ray,” Gavin whined, “it won’t be fun without you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“It’s always more fun with more people, innit?”

“Not in a small-ass house it isn’t,” Michael retorted. “It just gets cramped.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, you dope!”

“The fuck you call me?”

“That was unnecessary,” Ray stated solemnly.

Michael walked out of the kitchen, hands in his pockets and moved to sit down on the couch. However, he saw that Geoff and Ryan were standing in front of the desired piece of furniture. Geoff was holding the remote and flipping through channels. Both of them looked grim.

“The fuck’s going on?” he asked.

Ray and Gavin stopped behind him, looking curiously over the undead’s shoulders. “Something up?” Gavin inquired.

“Shut up for just one second,” Geoff hissed. Steam was starting to leak from his ears and his tail was practically writhing in agitation. He finally stopped his desperate channel flipping when he got to _TWC News_. The bored newscaster was in the middle of a tirade about politics.

 _“…by a landslide majority,”_ he finished. His gaze flicked to something beneath the camera; most likely a teleprompter. The newscaster shuffled his notes and started again. _“This just in – the APD have received several reports from concerned vacationers about what they describe as a ‘fishlike human’ near the shores of Lake Travis. While the police have yet to issue a formal statement, the majority opinion is this is some form of practical joke…”_

“Fucking shit,” Geoff swore. “That fucking _idiot_.”

Michael looked from the TV to Geoff and back again. “Is this someone you know?”

“If my suspicions are correct, yeah. Dammit, I told him to find someplace _safe,_ not prance about in front of the whole goddamn city!”

Ryan looked at Geoff over the tops of his glasses. “Wait, you _told_ Jack to come here?”

Geoff looked contrite. “Not _really…_ it was more of a suggestion…”

“If you did, where else would you expect him to go?! A fucking swimming pool? He can’t exactly survive outside of fresh water; you and I both know that!”

“I know, but-”

“You could have fucking _killed_ him!”

“I _know!_ ”

“Hold the fuck up!” Michael yelled. Both men looked at him, annoyance written clearly on their faces. “Who the fuck is Jack and what the fuck is going on?”

“Yeah, I’m totally lost,” Ray added.

“What?” asked Gavin.

Geoff sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack Pattillo. He’s a swamp monster whose swamp just so happened to be fucking demolished for construction purposes. I met with him and told him to get the fuck outta there. Austin was _suggested,_ ” here he glared at Ryan, “but I never _told_ him to come here.”

“Somehow I highly doubt that,” Ryan muttered.

“ _One_ of these days I am going to teach you why you don’t backtalk a fucking demon.” Something seemed to dawn on the demon at that moment. “Oh, _dammit_.”

“What is it _now?!_ ” everyone asked in unison.

“I just realized I mispronounced one of the runes in my curse. Instead of lasting for twelve days, it’s only going to last for twelve _minutes_.”

Ryan blinked and counted on his fingers. “So…it’s already gone. I’m free. Yay!”

“Dammit, this is why I only do deals. Cursing is just not my game.”

“Geoff, I think it’s fair to say a _lot_ of stuff is not your game.”

“You are seriously the biggest asshole this side of Hell. You’re like an asshole that’s had thirteen dicks shoved in it.”

Everybody grimaced at this particular metaphor. “Thank you for _that_ lovely image,” the scientist grumbled.

“You’re welcome.” Geoff turned on his tail and began walking toward the door.

“Where the fuck are you going, Geoff?” Michael asked.

“The fuck do you think I’m going?” Geoff turned and grinned at them, twirling one edge of his mustache. “We’re going on a fucking rescue mission, motherfuckers!”


	13. Lake to the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The “rescue team” arrives at the river and immediately start fucking things up. Go figure.

It took the group about fifteen minutes to reach the shores of Lake Travis; Geoff had to nether-walk Michael and Gavin first, followed by Ray. Why Ray came along nobody could really say, but he was there all the same. Dusky evening was descending over the city, dyeing the lake’s waters an inky black. With no wind to speak of the waters were as still and glassy as a mirror. Michael stared into the waters, trying to see, well, _anything_ really, but all he could glimpse was his own reflection staring back at him, deathly pale and slightly warped.

“So where is this prick?” Gavin asked.

“He’s a fucking water sprite or something,” said Ray. “He’s probably in the water.”

“He’s a _swamp monster,_ not a water sprite, asshole.” Geoff was standing at the very edge of the lake, the toes of his shoes mere inches from the waterline. For the first time since Michael had met him the demon looked a little nervous; his tail was flicking agitatedly and he kept licking his lips with his forked tongue. “But yeah, he’ll be in here somewhere.”

Michael put his foot in the water and splashed around a bit. “You _sure_ he’s in here? I mean, it _could_ just be some dickhead trying to play a prank, right?”

“Oh, it’s him. I’ll bet all the souls in Purgatory on it.” Geoff frowned at the water. “How the hell am I gonna do this…”

“What’s wrong? Are you fucking scared of the water?”

“What do you think, asshole? I’m fucking made of fire; me and water have, historically, never gotten along.” The demon backed away slightly and let out a hiss. “You _do_ know what happens when fire meets water, right?”

“All right, I get it, you and water don’t get along. Jesus.” Michael splashed around a bit more. “So who’s gonna try to find this bitch?”

“Anybody’s who’s not me.”

“Great. Thanks, Geoff.”

“No problem, buddy.”

Michael turned to Ray and Gavin. “You wanna, like, rock paper scissors or something?”

“I can’t swim,” said Ray.

“What? Me?”

Michael sighed. “Where the fuck is Ryan?”

“He’s fucking getting something to help us get Jack out of here. We can’t exactly _walk_ a fucking fish monster through the streets of Austin.”

“Is he not able to walk?” Gavin asked.

Geoff looked over at him. “Of course he can walk, asshole. Why’d you even ask?”

“Well, if he’s a fish-”

“He’s a _swamp monster,_ moron. Haven’t you ever seen a fucking monster movie, or do they not have those in England?”

“All right, lay off,” Gavin muttered.

“All right, so Jekyll’s driving here from fucking China, Frankenstein’s dazed and confused, Wolfman can’t swim and Diablo’s afraid of water.” Michael walked forward and put one foot in the water. “Guess I’ll fucking do it, then. Probably can’t drown anyway.”

“Do what? What the fuck are you doing, Michael?”

“I’m gonna fucking find this prick, dude. He’s not exactly coming up to say hello.”

The demon glanced at the flat expanse of water. “That _is_ a bit troubling.”

“So I’m going to find him, unless you just want to stand here and stare at the water like a retarded asshole.” The undead began wading into the lake. “See you bitches later.”

“All right. We’ll hold down the fort then.” Geoff stepped back and crouched down on the soggy grass. “Um, good luck, I guess?”

“Good luck for what? I’m literally just going to swim out and find a swamp monster. What d’you think is going to happen to me?”

Geoff thought about it for a second. “Good luck anyway.”

“Thanks, Geoff.”

Michael took an unnecessary breath and dived into the water. Without his supernatural sight, it would have been impossible for him to see anything in the dark, murky depths. As it was, there wasn’t really anything interesting for him to see. He saw some spindly green plants, the occasional fish, the muddy floor of the lake, and sometimes a piece of litter. Letting out a few frustrated bubbles, he swam deeper.

All too soon his lungs began protesting their lack of air, despite the fact that they were dead and thus no longer needed air. Invisible iron bands started wrapping around his chest, trying to force him to breathe. The undead ignored the response; stupid body still thought it was alive. Once he might have felt sad about this. Now he was just annoyed.

It was just starting to become unbearable when Michael saw something new. Something thin and shiny was wrapped around a jagged chunk of rock; upon further examination he realized it was a length of fishing line. The line was stretched taught and was jerking erratically. Either there was one hell of a current somewhere in its vicinity, or there was something attached to it. The undead pushed back the urge to rise to the surface and followed the line.

Several yards of fishing line later, Michael found what was so desperately trying to escape from it. A large ginger swamp monster was frantically picking at the fishing line, which was wrapped tightly around his scaly green ankle. His weird fin-things on either side of his head trembled as Michael approached, and the swamp monster looked up. Eyes widening in alarm he started trying frantically to get away, but neither the rock nor the fishing line let him free. The swamp monster – Jack, he guessed – simply backpedaled as though he were on a stationary bike.

Unable to speak beneath the water, brain already trying to force his dead lungs to breathe, the undead reached out and grabbed the fishing line with both hands. Burying his feet into the soft silt floor of the lake, he began pulling on the line, trying to break it with opposing tension. What with his natural buoyancy and the strength of the line in question, all this got Michael was a slight pain in his temple and a set of parallel lines pressed into the flesh of his hands.

Now that it was obvious that he wasn’t in danger, Jack was approaching Michael with only a little bit of caution. As he got closer, the undead noticed with a sickening jolt that the tail end of a fishhook was protruding from the side of the swamp monster’s ankle. Seeing as he couldn’t see the actual hook, it must have gotten embedded quite deep. Tiny beads of blood leaked out of the wound and into the surrounding water. Jack shook his head and pointed over to the rock. Michael did his best to look at it, but from this distance, and his head beginning to swim, he saw nothing. Shaking his head, he lifted a finger and gestured up to the surface. The swamp monster seemed to understand and settled back to wait. Michael undug his feet from the silt and began swimming to the surface.

Michael surfaced like a breaching whale, spluttering and coughing up a storm. The others had been milling around the shore, looking quite bored, but as soon as they heard the splashing and coughing, they all rushed to the shore in a small bundle; Ray and Gavin were at the front, and Geoff was lurking at the back.

“What’s going on?” Ray asked.

Michael spat out a mouthful of water and managed to sputter, “Fuckhead’s got a fishhook stuck in his leg. He’s trapped.”

“Fucking shit, I knew this would happen.” Geoff pranced in place, tiny flames puffing up beneath his feet. “Goddammit, why did he have to come _here?_ He could have gone to some fucking secluded ass creek, but _no,_ not Jack Pattillo! Only the most popular and crystal clear lake for Jack motherfucking Pattillo! Fucking bullshit.”

“Do any of you shits have some sort of knife?” Michael asked.

There was a brief moment of silence as everybody on the shore did a quick self pat-down.

“Nope,” said Ray.

“Haven’t got shite,” said Gavin.

“I _thought_ I had one,” said Geoff. “Ryan the scary-creepy-weird-fucker guy would have plenty, but unfortunately he’s otherwise occupied.”

“Great. Fucking great.” Michael sat there and treaded water for a moment, trying to consider his options. “Do you have anything _close_ to a knife?”

“I’ve got jack shit,” Ray reiterated.

“Um…” Gavin patted himself down again. “No.”

“Hang on, I swear to God I have a knife in here somewhere…” Geoff rummaged around in his pockets again. “Dammit! Never there when I need it!”

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do here?! Fucking swim down and bite him free?”

“Just figure something out,” Geoff told him. “Either that or wait until fucking Scientist McStab-You-Lots gets here.”

“Fuck that.” Michael dived back beneath the water. He had no idea what to do, but he didn’t have the patience to wait however long it would take Ryan to get his shit set up. There was more important shit to do, like freeing swamp monsters trapped by fishing equipment.

Jack had moved beside the rock and was pawing at something when Michael got back to him. His ear-fin-things quivered as the undead approached and he looked over at him with expectant brown eyes. Michael, not able to speak and unable to figure out any sort of sign to make, simply swam over to reexamine the rock. Upon undertaking this examination he realized that the rock had a significant fissure in its top. Looking even closer, he saw the chewed up fragments of a fishing rod wedged tightly into the crack. Jack had gotten stuck across the board, then, and the only way to free him would be to cut the cord, unless Michael felt like unwedging several pieces of rod.

 _‘How the fuck does someone fail **this** hard?’ _he lamented. _‘This whole thing is a three-layer sandwich of fucking bullshit.’_ Michael cast his eye around for something, _anything_ that could be used to get Jack free, but he saw nothing but silt and weed. Resigning himself to the arduous work, the undead reached out and began trying to unwind the tangled line from around the rock.

Once again his stupid dead brain told his stupid dead lungs they needed air, and he started feeling the pressure on his chest and the fog building up in his head. Stupid mind _still_ wouldn’t accept that he was dead and kept on trying to force him to surface. As the feeling grew worse and worse, his fingers began fumbling over the slippery cord. Jack swam closer and also tried to work the knots and tangles free, while watching Michael with worried eyes.

Finally, his brain had had enough, and forced him to breathe. Water rushed into his mouth and flooded his lungs in a crashing tidal wave. He gagged and tried to spit, but his stupid, stupid brain just wanted to breathe. Something pressed against his rapidly flooding chest and began pulling him back up to the surface. Michael couldn’t fight it; the water, while not drowning him, was weighing him down considerably.

His head broke the surface of the lake, and he immediately began spitting up water. There was a great deal of shouting and he heard several pairs of feet splash into the water. Michael lolled and spat up water, blinking away the black spots dancing in front of his eyes.

“Michael! Michael, my boi! What happened, Michael?”

Michael tried to respond to Gavin’s inquiry, but all he managed was a gurgle and another stream of water.

“He almost drowned!” A new voice was speaking; Michael guessed that this must be Jack. “I managed to save him before he swallowed the goddamn lake.”

“I thought you had a fishhook stuck in your leg,” said Geoff.

“I did…oh.”

There was a brief pause.

“Jesus Christ, dude! Like, half your fucking leg is missing!”

“That’s pretty fucked up,” said Ray. “You all right, or…?”

“I’m bleeding pretty badly. Does somebody have a Band-Aid?”

“None of us, but Ryan’ll be here in a little bit. He’ll take care of ya.”

“Okay. Can he help this guy, too?”

“He’ll be fine.” Michael gurgled in indignation. “You _will_ be fine, Michael. Just keep on gushin’, dude. You’ll get the water out eventually.”

In the distance, Michael heard a car drive toward them and slow to a halt. “Fina-fucking-ly,” Geoff drawled. “Asshole came by way of China.”

A car door slammed and there came the sound of running feet. “I’m here! I’m here!” Ryan yelled. “Came as fast as I coul-“

“Bullshit you came as fast as you could! We’ve been sitting here _forever!_ Where’d you drive from – Mars?! Michael nearly fucking _drowned_ because of you!”

“…Michael can’t drown. He’s dead.”

“For God’s sake, just help them out, asshole.”

The grass crunched, and Ryan’s familiar face swam in and out of focus as he leaned over Michael. “Um…you all right?” Michael spat out a mouthful of water and let out another gurgle. “Take that as a ‘no.’ Hm. Nothing I can do for you right now.” Ryan receded from Michael’s limited view as he stood up. “How ‘bout you, Jack?”

“Been better, man. Got a _huge_ fucking chunk ripped out of my leg when I pulled this guy outta the lake.”

“...but he’s _dead._ He wasn’t in any danger.”

“I didn’t know that. I thought he was dying!”

“How can he die?! He’s already dead!”

“But I didn’t _know_ that! He looked like he was drowning, so I pulled him out of the water!”

“But you’re a fucking _swamp monster!_ ”

“Sure, but I’m not an asshole!”

“Shut the fuck up, both of you!” Geoff’s voice cracked like a whip, and Michael felt Jack wince. “We’re not exactly _hiding,_ you know. If anybody looks down here, they’re gonna see a whole lotta fucking monsters with their dicks in their hands. How about you guys stop your fucking yammering and get your buttholes in gear?”

“All right, fine. Jesus,” Ryan grumbled. “Just start headin’ back to the truck all ready.”

“Um, are we all gonna fit in that truck?” Ray asked. “I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t want anybody in my lap. I’ll sit in someone else’s lap, though.”

“Wait, since when do you have a truck? I thought you had a shitty little Camry or something.”

“Since about thirty minutes ago, when I, uh, ‘acquired’ it from someone’s front lawn.”

“You fucking _stole_ a fucking truck?! _That’s_ what took you so long?!”

“I didn’t have anything else! Besides, I have this sweet little gadget that lets me-”

“I don’t care if you have a diamond-coated cock, you asshole! You don’t fucking steal a car during a covert mission, you moron! Jesus, do I have to do _everything_ myself?!”

“Stop fighting!” Gavin yelled. “You’re just making it worse!”

“No-one cares, Gavin! Shut the fuck up!”

At this point, Michael was tired of both the bullshit arguments and the fact that he couldn’t speak. He pushed himself to his feet and began trying to lurch away from the lake. Unfortunately, his brain still thought he was drowning, and wouldn’t remove the black spots from his vision. In short, Michael crashed into someone who was standing nearby and sent them both tumbling to the ground. The impact caused him to vomit forth more water in a great rush. He heard a sharp squeal and felt the person beneath him squirm away.

Michael took a breath and felt the remaining water ripple in his lungs. “Just…fucking… _go…_ already!” He managed to gargle. “Fucking… _mongs!”_

Somebody gagged and retched nearby; definitely Gavin, if past experiences had taught him anything. “Pull yourself together, dude,” Geoff said. “Sorry about this, Michael. Everybody’s being a goddamn asshole.”

“Hey!” Ray and Jack said in unison.

“ _Everybody,_ ” Geoff repeated irritably. “Now get your fucking asses in motion and get in Ryan’s fucking _GTA_ truck.”

“I mean, if you don’t want-”

“Ryan, now is _not_ the time to be a coy dickhead! Save it for later!”

Somebody grabbed Michael around the waist and hauled him up. He spat out another mouthful of water and let himself go limp; he’d had enough of this for one night. All he’d gotten for his efforts tonight was drowning and a whole lot of bitches arguing. Let them do some goddamn work for once.

He was _so_ fucking done.


	14. Sucks to Suck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael gets over his whole drowning fiasco, and the population of Ryan’s house goes up by one.

Tired after a long night of drowning, Michael ended up falling asleep as Ryan drove the group to his desolate house on the hill. Despite the fact that he, Ray and Gavin had been unceremoniously crammed into the back of the tiny truck, he nodded off easily, his head resting against Gavin’s bony shoulder, gurgling pitifully with every breath. The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was the admonishing voice of Geoff as he continued to chew Ryan out for his less than legal acquisition of the truck, as well as for taking forever to get to them.

For the second time since his resurrection, Michael dreamed. His dreams were filled with water, never-ending water, dark and murky like the lake had been. In this dream, he was mortal once more, and stuck in an infinite loop of swimming. His lungs were bursting for air again, but even though he swam and swam, he got no closer to the surface. Overhead, distorted by the water’s rippling surface, was the moon. It teased him with the promise of fresh air. His thrashing proved futile; his brain forced him to breathe, but all he got was water. Aching with fatigue, his arms and legs ceased their movement. Slowly, ever so slowly he sank back into the depths, darkness eclipsing the moon from view. As he descended into the bottomless darkness, he heard something from his previous dream, something that sent a chill up his spine. Six echoing gunshots.

Michael started awake and tried to sit up, but something attached to his torso kept him down. Blinking madly, he stared down at his chest and felt a sudden rush of nausea. Six clear tubes were sticking out of his unexpectedly bared chest, three on the right side and three on the left. The tubes were attached to six donation needles, all of which were stuck in the spaces between his ribs. A soft whirring was emanating from nearby, and murky water was flowing through each of the tubes.

“Stop moving, Michael,” a voice said from nearby. “You’re gonna mess it up.”

Michael let his head fall back against the metal table. “How long’ve I been out, Ryan?”

“About two hours.”

“Two hours? Did I swallow the entire fucking lake?!”

“Nah, you’ve just been hooked up for about three minutes now. You slept through the drive, though. Freaked the fuck out of Gavin and Ray. They thought you were dead.”

“I _am_ dead.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, well, what about everybody else? Did Jack and Geoff not give a flying fuck about me?”

“Jack was a little more concerned about the chunk missing from his leg, but yeah, they were pretty worried. I started on you after patching him up.” Michael shot Ryan a reproachful look. “What? You’re dead, Michael; it’s not like you were ever in any danger. Jack’s still alive, and he was bleeding all over the fucking place.”

“You still left me with water in my fucking lungs for _two hours,_ dickhead! I still have to live in this sack of crap, you know; you could at _least_ help me keep it somewhat decent.”

“It’s not like it would damage you anyway. Remember when Ray clawed the shit out of you? Those cuts healed in _maybe_ ten minutes.”

“… _Still,_ ” Michael persisted, “something coulda been messed up!”

“Nothing is messed up, I promise. If you _really_ want, I can cut-”

“You know what? I think I _am_ fine.” Stomach twisting slightly, Michael stared up at the ceiling lights. “You and your fucking knife fetish, man. It’s fucking weird.”

“Having a willingness to cut shit up is not a fetish.”

“Keep telling yourself that, asshole.” Michael was silent for a bit, staring up at the ceiling and biting his lip. “…Hey, Ryan?”

“Yo.”

“At some point, do you think I could use your computer?”

“Um…why, exactly, do you want to use my computer?” The question had a suspicious edge to it, and Michael thought if he cared to look over at the scientist, his glasses would be doing that anime obscury thing again.

“Porn.”

“If you think for one goddamn second-”

“That was a fucking joke, dude. Chill out.” The undead glanced down at his chest and let out a breath. He could feel the needles poking through his lungs, and it made him feel more than a little ill. “All I want to do is find out how I died.”

“…Are you sure?” Ryan still sounded a little hesitant, though not quite as suspicious as before. “Chances are you’re not gonna like what you find.”

“It can’t be any fucking worse than not knowing anything at all,” Michael retorted. “I’m just…I’m tired of this shit. I’m sick and tired of knowing nothing about myself. I’m just, I’m just _done._ I don’t care if it sucks ass, and I don’t care if it’s fucking depressing. I want to know. I want to have _something._ ” He paused for a second. “I _woulda_ asked Ray about this, but he’s been a fucking tightass about it ever since Geoff came back.”

“Hm.” The machine let out a burbling chirp, and Ryan walked over to examine it. “All right, you’re done.” He switched it off and moved over to Michael’s table. “If you’ll give me a second, I’ll get all this shit disconnected.”

One by one the scientist removed the tubes from the needles stuck in Michael’s chest. They curled upon themselves and fell limply down beside the suction machine. As soon as the last tube had been removed, Ryan set about pulling the needles out of the undead’s ribs. Each needle left one hole in between the ribs in which it had been placed; one little bead of black blood leaked out as the wounds closed up. When at last Ryan had finished, Michael sat up and took a deep breath, and was pleased to feel no water in his lungs.

“Where’re the others?” he asked. “Don’t they know I was getting all that fucking water sucked outta me?”

“Upstairs. Think Geoff was, uh, a little less than pleased at Jack for, uh, his choice of lakes.”

“No shit. No fucking shit. I nearly drowned in that goddamn lake.”

“He’s not really happy about that either.”

“Should fucking hope not!” Michael looked around for his shirt, or any shirt really. “Fucking assholes.”

“Here.” Ryan picked something up and tossed it to Michael. He caught the pile of grey cloth and examined it. It turned out to be a light grey t-shirt with “RIOT” written on it in all capital letters. “This what you’re looking for?”

“Yeah – no – where the fuck do you get this shit?” Michael pulled on the t-shirt without further complaining. It was just the slightest bit too tight, but he could live with that.

“Uh, sometimes, well, times aren’t so good, so I have to look… _elsewhere_ for supplies.”

“Elsewhere? The fuck do you mean?”

“I go to garage sales, flea markets, estate auctions, that sorta thing. Pick up what I can. Use what’s usable. Put the rest upstairs.”

“…You’re, like, the fucking king of pack rats, dude.” The undead shook his head. “Fucking donate that shit, Ryan, before your house turns into a fucking maze of boxes.”

“Yeah, I _probably_ should, but, I mean, it helps you guys out…so…”  Ryan shrugged and walked over to the suction machine. He leaned down over it and started pressing buttons. After a brief whirring it spat out a gallon-sized bag of murky water. “Ugh.” He gingerly poked the bag and wrinkled his nose.

“Have fun with my lung water, Jekyll. I’m gonna check on the others.” Without further ado the undead turned his back on the scientist and started up the stairs. As he proceeded up toward the kitchen, he could hear raised voices and the pounding of feet. Geoff’s shrill, angry voice carried down the stairs, ire woven into every word.

“…don’t care _what_ you thought! What kind of asshole hides in _the most_ popular lake in Austin?! Did you leave your fucking brain in the swamp, Jack?! Jesus fucking Christ!”

“I fucking _told_ you a thousand times, Geoff! You _said_ I should come down here! Where else was I supposed to go? Pools aren’t exactly swamp monster friendly!”

“And _I_ told _you_ that you should fucking go to Ryan! Use those dick flaps you call ears, loser.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know how to get to Ryan’s place?! Austin’s not exactly a tiny backwater town, man, and I’ve only been here once or twice. What did you want me to do: go door to door until I dried out?”

Michael hit the button to open the door and entered the kitchen. Gavin and Ray were sitting at the kitchen table, looking bored out of their minds. There was a plate full of bones sitting in front of Ray and an empty glass in front of Gavin. As the door creaked open, they both turned to look at it. “Michael!” Gavin sprang to his feet, caught the leg of his chair with his shoe and immediately fell with a crash and a yelp.

“Fucking idiot.” Ray walked around him and toward Michael. “You better after your drowning?”

“Sure. Just had to get half a dozen fucking needles shoved into my fucking chest. Now I’m fucking great.” Michael stooped and lifted Gavin up by the nape of his neck. “You all right there, Frankenstein?”

“F word!” Gavin grumbled. “S’like the damn thing grabbed ‘hold of my leg!”

“I’m pretty sure the chair had nothing to do with it. That was all you.” He let Gavin’s shirt go and stepped aside.

Meanwhile, Jack and Geoff were still arguing. The swamp monster was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, while the demon loomed over him like a horned vulture. A big white bandage was wrapped around Jack’s leg, marking where the hook had torn his flesh. Both were glaring at each other with baleful eyes.

“…said I should come to Austin,” Jack was repeating sulkily, “You _said_ I should find somewhere to stay – _in Austin._ ”

“I didn’t mean you should dive into a fucking tourist trap, asshole! Everybody and their fucking dog saw you swimming around without a fucking care, you stupid dick! Maybe if you had a brain instead of swamp gas in that head of yours, you wouldn’t be in so much fucking trouble and none of this would have happened.” Geoff’s flame had, at this point, engulfed both horns and was licking at his hair, while steam leaked from his ears and from in between his clenched fangs. “You are such an idiot.”

“The fuck you guys yelling about?” Michael ambled into the living room, hands in his pockets and scowl on his face. “Sounds fucking retarded, whatever it is.”

“Fucking chum-for-brains here took my advice way too fucking literally – if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have fucking drowned, he wouldn’t have bled to death, _and_ our asses wouldn’t have been hanging out for all of Austin to see!” Geoff snapped.  “Stupid asshole.”

“You fucking _told_ me to come here!” the swamp monster cried.

“I told you to go to Ryan, you stupid dick!”

“How the hell was I supposed to find one guy in a city of a million fucking people?! I’m a swamp monster, not a fucking bloodhound! Also, you didn’t exactly give me any directions, Geoffrey.”

“How hard can it be to track down one fucking mad scientist?”

“Not all of us are magical demons, Geoffrey. _Some_ of us don’t have the power to just _know_ where everybody is.”

“Sounds likes _somebody’s_ jealous of my fucking awesomeness,” said the demon with a flick of his tail. “Still, it can’t be _that_ hard to find a crazy asshole scientist.”

“ _Especially_ one who’s a virtual recluse,” Jack retorted.

“…Okay, I see your point,” Geoff conceded. “ _But-_ “

“But nothing! You told me to come here and find one guy in a million people! All I wanted was a new place to call home; is that so wrong, Geoff?”

“You know what? Just shut up.” Geoff turned away from Jack and began storming off toward the kitchen.

“Real fucking smooth there, Mr. Awesome Demon,” Michael taunted.

“Shut up. Everybody shut up.” He threw himself into a chair and crossed his arms and legs. “Where the hell is Ryan?”

“Still down in the lab,” Michael told him. “Think he had to dump my fucking lung water somewhere. Thanks, by the way, for not giving two shits about me. Really fucking considerate.”

“I _was_ worried about you, asshole. We had to deal with Jack first; plus fucking Gavin nearly passed out when he saw Ryan getting the needles out.”

“No I didn’t!” Gavin protested.

“Totally did,” said Ray. “Unless there was some other reason you started squealing.”

“Like a fucking bitch,” Geoff added. “Like a little fucking bitch he squealed.”

“I never,” the sewn-together undead proclaimed weakly.

“Because everybody will believe you if you keep denying it, right?” Geoff shook his head. “It must be really nice to live in your world, Gavin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means you’re a delusional asshole! Jesus, Ryan _must’ve_ fried something when he brought you back,” Michael told the other undead. “Either that or you’ve always been this stupid.”

“Michael…”

“Will you stop that?!”

“The fuck’s going on up here?!” Everybody jumped and looked to see Ryan standing at the entrance to his lab. “I could hear everybody yelling from all the way in the Hole.”

“Everybody’s a stupid asshole,” Geoff grumbled.

“Yeah, what else is new?”

“He’s mad because he expected Jack to be able to find you completely on his own,” Michael said.

“Which is completely insane!” Jack yelled.

Ryan frowned. “Really, Geoff? He’s not exactly-”

“All right, all right, I fucking get it!” the demon snapped. “Geoff’s a fucking moron who thinks too highly of his friends’ abilities! Jesus fucking Christ!”

“Um, am I the only one wondering what the fuck ‘the Hole’ is?” Ray asked.

“Fucking sue me, then!” Geoff thundered. “I’m fucking done. I’ll see you losers later.” He stood up and nether-walked away, leaving only the faintest smell of brimstone behind.

“No, seriously, what’s ‘the Hole?’” Ray asked again.

“S’where I keep all my animals,” Ryan said. “It’s, um, where you woke up yesterday.”

“Oh.” Ray thought about this for a second. “…You _really_ call it ‘the Hole?’”

The scientist raised one eyebrow. “You got a better name?”

“…No.”

“There you go.” Ryan walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. “How’re you doing, Jack?”

“My leg’s not so bad now,” Jack replied, “though it won’t mean anything if I dry out.”

“Hmm…” Ryan bit his lip and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I… _think_ I have an empty tank somewhere in the Hole. I can _probably_ get that set up for you.”

“I don’t want to go in the Hole!”

“Fine. You can have the downstairs bathtub then. It’s a bit rusty-”

“It’s a _lot_ rusty!” interrupted Michael, who had seen the downstairs bathtub during his exploration of the house. “It’s practically nothing _but_ rust! Just fucking _touching_ that thing’ll give Jack tetanus!”

“That’s…not…how you get…tetanus,” said Ryan.

“Way to miss the fucking point, genius.”

“Well, whatever you do, I hope you figure something out quickly,” said Jack. “I already feel like I’m starting to dry out.”

“Really? It’s only been three hours.”

“How long do you think a fish can stay out of water, Ryan?”

“Uh, well, you _do_ have a point there. So…bathtub or tank?”

“…is it _really_ called the Hole, Ryan?”

The scientist shifted from foot to foot. “Um…no?”

Jack sighed. “I’ll take the tank, Ryan.”

“Okay. I’ll start getting that ready, then. In the meantime, get a glass of water or something.” With that the scientist turned and started heading back into his lab.

A moment of silence engulfed the lads and Jack.

“Um, is now a bad time to say I wanna go home?” Ray asked.

“I _really_ think I’m starting to dry out,” commented Jack.

“Anybody else think Ryan and Jack sound exactly the same?” asked Gavin.

Michael let out an irritated sigh. _‘God, I wish I had magic. I wouldn’t have to put up with this fucking bullshit.’_ He walked back over to the kitchen table and sat down with a huff. “ _You_ want to go home?” he asked Ray. “ _I_ wanted to go home from day one, but Geoff says I’ve got no fucking home to go to. Either I stay in my grave or I deal with you fuckheads.”

“Really? You can’t go home?” The werewolf frowned. “That’s lame.”

“S’part of the important shit Geoff won’t fucking tell me.” Michael leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “ _He_ says it’s against the fucking rules. Since when do demons have _rules?!_ ”

“Hey, don’t look at me! _I’m_ just a fucking werewolf.” Ray held up his hands and shrugged emphatically. “I know jack shit about demons.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael gave Ray a vaguely placating look, but ended up distracted by the subtle change in his appearance. No longer were his ears elongated and his hair shaggy; he looked about as human as Ryan. “Hey, why’re you all normal now?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I mean, all _this,_ ” Michael gestured to his own face as a reference, “looks normal now. Why is that?”

“Oh, right, right, I got it. Any time before or after the full moon I start looking all wild and shit. Part of being a wolfman, I guess.”

“Can you go out looking like that?”

“Sure. Not like anybody gives two shits.”

“Why not?” Gavin suddenly interjected. “Surely _someone_ would notice a hairy arsehole like you.”

Michael blinked at him. “In what way does Ray resemble a hairy asshole?”

“You know what I mean, Michael.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t make you any less retarded.”

“You know what I mean! Ray was all furry and shite.”

“You’d think they’d notice his _ears_ more than his hair.”

“Yeah, pointed ears aren’t exactly common,” said Ray. “Usually I just wear a beanie. Nobody cares about beanies.”

“You’re still furry, though.”

“What universe do you live in, Gavin? Nobody cares if a guy has hair, man.” Michael stared at him incredulously. “Jesus Christ, what is wrong with your brain?”

“Nothing!”

“What was it you asked earlier? Something about Ryan and Jack?”

“I asked if you thought they sounded the same.”

Ray and Michael looked at each other.

“Um, no,” said Michael.

“Absolutely not,” said Ray. “Why would you even say that?”

“They do, though! They sound like voice twins!”

“‘Voice twins?’ Really, Gav? That’s not even a fucking phrase! Anyway, they might sound a _little bit_ similar, but that doesn’t make them _exactly the fucking same._ ”

“They are, though!”

“No, they’re not.”

“They are!”

“In what universe?”

“In this one, you dope!”

“Do you guys ever stop arguing?” Both parties turned to stare at the werewolf. “Just asking, man.”

“Fuck this,” Michael grumbled, “I’m going upstairs. You guys can fucking blow each other for all I care.” He stood and started toward the stairs.

As he passed Jack, the swamp monster turned to look at him. “You’re Michael, right?”

“Yeah, not that anyone gives a shit,” the undead growled irritably.

“I was gonna ask if you were okay, but I think I know the answer.” Jack shifted around on the couch so he could scratch his bandaged leg. “Um…I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out of the water soon enough. _If_ that’s why you’re upset.”

Michael blinked. “Oh, uh, that’s…all right. And…I’ll be fine.” He started toward the stairs, but paused to turn back toward Jack. “Thanks for…pulling me out, and for...well, for giving a shit.”

The swamp monster smiled; his scaly ear-fins waggled a bit as he did this. “You’re welcome.”

The undead managed a smile, or rather, half a weak smile, before heading upstairs and flopping down onto the guestroom bed. The previous day's drowning and the fifth occupant of Ryan's house had given him plenty to think about, as well as the idea of using Ryan's computer to find out more about himself. Even though he'd apparently spent two hours napping, he still felt like complete and total shit. Arguing hadn't helped that matter much; if he was completely honest, it hadn't helped one bit.

 _'It was bad enough when it was just me 'n' Ryan locked in this house. Now there're five assholes shut in here. Great. Fucking great.'_ Michael buried his face in the musty pillow, shifting it to try and cover his ears. It didn't really work, as he could still hear the quiet sounds of bickering coming from downstairs. He let out a sigh.

_'This shit can only end badly.'_


	15. Research Pro-Jerk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael decides he’s had enough of knowing jack shit about anything, and holy fuck he wasn’t prepared for the consequences.

In the end, Michael decided to take a brief nap. Once again, his sleep was dreamless and boring, though he supposed it was better than drowning. It was dark when he woke, too, and he spent several minutes grumbling about the fate to which Geoff had consigned him. _‘Nobody ever told me being a creature of the night sucks this much ass. Fuck immortality; I just want to be a normal human being again.’_

From either side of him, Michael could hear the soft sounds of breathing. Apparently, both Gavin and Ray had decided to turn in for the night, and had ended up cramming themselves onto the one guest bed like sardines in a tin. Moving carefully, Michael inched his way to the foot of the bed and rolled onto the floor. One of the other two lads let out a snort, but nobody woke up, for which Michael was grateful.

Slowly, stealthily, the undead creeped out onto the upstairs landing and looked around. Now that everything was quiet and everybody was asleep, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could find a computer and start researching himself without anybody looking over his shoulder or punishing him for finding something he apparently wasn't supposed to find. However, his previous examinations of the house had shown that the only working computer here was in Ryan’s lab, which meant that he would have to ninja his way in there somehow. So he took a deep breath and started tiptoeing down the stairs.

Silence greeted him as he edged into the living room. While it was a welcome relief from the bickering from earlier, it was still creepy in this rundown wannabe haunted house. The undead endeavored to ignore the eeriness and moved on to the kitchen.

As Michael approached the heavy door to Ryan’s lab, it occurred to him that any sort of failure could activate traps or alarms, and, even worse, would make Ryan angry. Nobody, not even a nearly invincible demonically risen undead guy, wanted to incur the wrath of a mad scientist, especially not one who was fond of slicing things to ribbons with scalpels. Still, Michael was either brave or stupid enough to proceed with his plan. _‘Hopefully this works, or I am gonna pay for it…’_ Taking a deep breath, Michael input the code ‘12345’ and waited.

One tense, frightful second passed in which Michael thought he was screwed. He imagined all the horrible things that could or would happen to him and felt positively queasy. Then the door let out a chirp and flashed the message _Maintenance Override Accepted_ as it swung open. Relieved beyond belief, the undead brushed a few locks of hair out of his eyes and sighed gratefully. That particular maintenance override code, while commonly accepted by vending machines, was not something he had expected to work on a security door, particularly one owned by a mad scientist. Perhaps Ryan didn't know about it, or maybe he just hadn’t gotten around to changing it, or maybe he had, but hadn’t figured out how to get rid of it. Whatever the case, Michael was just glad that it had worked, and, without further ado, he started descending the dark staircase.

Doing his best not to make any noise, Michael climbed down the winding stone stairs. Had he still been living, his heart would have been pounding in his throat while sweat dripped down his back, but, being dead, he felt nothing except several horrible pangs in his stomach. Keeping as quiet as he possibly could, he sneaked slowly into the lab.

For the first time since he’d been there, all the lights in Ryan’s lab were down. Silence ruled here too, as most of the machines had been shut off. Occasionally the Jacob’s ladder generator thing let out a sparking arch of electricity; the bluish light climbed up the walls and ceiling before vanishing into the ether. The inconsistent pulse of light increased the mad science vibe of the lab by about five billion, in Michael’s opinion. He ignored it for the time being in favor of glancing around the darkened room. _‘Now…where was that fucking computer?’_

Finally he saw the dimly glowing triage of screens somewhere to his left, so he changed course, weaving his way past tables full of scientific shit. _‘Hopefully Ryan’s asleep somewhere, otherwise I’m fucked.’_ As always, the screens showed all the different feeds from Ryan’s various and sundry security cameras. Michael watched the feeds for a few seconds before gently pulling the chair out from under the table and cautiously edging into it. At any moment he expected all the lights to go up and alarms to start blaring, and then Ryan would show up with that zap stick, or a flamethrower, or a fistful of scalpels. Nothing had happened yet, which only served to make the undead even more paranoid.

Slowly, carefully, Michael reached out and grabbed the mouse; for a split second he thought it might be booby trapped, but nothing happened. Wiggling it brought up a taskbar with three shortcuts, one of which was for Google Chrome. Before he clicked on it, Michael glanced around, expecting Ryan to appear any moment, with a stony expression and some sort of weapon in hand. _‘I’m fine,’_ he told himself, _‘I’m totally fine. Nothing’s gonna happen.’_

A blank window popped up over the camera feeds; Michael clicked on the empty search bar, typed in his name and hit enter. For a few tense moments he waited for the results to load, still glancing surreptitiously around him. The loading reticle spun around and around, and then Google loaded up with the first page of returns. First and foremost was an article titled _Jones Murder Hits Dead End, Says Cop._ Michael nervously licked his lips and clicked. It read:

_October 3 rd, 2014_

_Today the Austin Police Department has declared that, currently, the investigation toward the killing of Michael Jones has gone cold. “It’s been forty-eight hours,” Junior Detective Flint Cole told reporters, “and we haven’t seen anything of the b****** who did this. After forty-eight hours, chance of finding a perp drops significantly.” When asked if the murderer would likely get away, Cole stated, “Oh, they may be gone now, but they’ll turn up again. This wasn't a planned murder – this was a robbery gone bad. Chances are good that they’ll panic and f*** up somehow. Then we’ll be there with a pair of cuffs and a court order. No matter what the higher ups may say, we’re not giving up just yet. Besides, if the wife wakes up, we could have a lead that could put this f***** behind bars for the rest of his life.”_

_Jones’s wife, Lindsay, aged 25, is currently in care of St. David’s Hospital. As of today, she is still unconscious, but doctors have stabilized her condition. Though many hope she will shed some new light on the murder, doctors have stated that it is unlikely. “She received a blow to the back of the head,” a tech confided to reporters. “It’s clear she was attacked from behind. If police are going to sit around waiting for her to wake, they’re just gonna waste their time. She won’t have anything for them.” When confronted with this information, Detective Cole purportedly said, “It’s a gamble we’ll just have to take. Every other lead’s petered out; if she’s got nothing, we've got nothing.”_

_Jones, 27, was found dead at the corner of 6 th Street and Comal at 1:47 a.m. on October 1st after a couple reported seeing a copious amount of blood flowing in the gutter. Police determined he had been shot several times, but have so far been unable to find the gunman. With Jones’s wife unconscious in the hospital, and an unclear portrait of the suspect, the police have a very difficult task ahead of them._

_Jones’s body has been returned to his family in New Jersey, and a private service will be held on Monday._

Michael leaned back and took a deep breath. There was a lot of new information for him to consider in this article. First off, he’d died in Austin, and, in fact, the street corner where he was slain wasn't too far away from where Geoff’s weird demon bar was located. Secondly, he’d been married. Try as he might, he could remember nothing about his married life. The name matched the one Ray had asked him about, but no amount of effort could make the memories return. Before, all it had taken for him to remember things was a name, or a face. Lindsay’s name, on the other hand, brought up nothing. _‘Why?’_ he wondered. _‘Why the fuck can’t I remember her? C’mon, stupid brain, remember already! Fuck!’_

No amount of coercion could force his memories to surface, so Michael went back to his search, grumbling irritably. Most of the articles restated the same information: he died on an Austin street corner, he’d been shot, his wife was unconscious in the hospital, etc. “All I want is a goddamn _picture,”_ he complained, “is that so hard?” Then he immediately slapped his hand over his mouth. _‘Fuck! Why’d you say that out loud, you fucking idiot?!’_ He sat there and listened for anything that would indicate his oncoming demise, but nothing came. For the billionth time that night, he let out a sigh of relief and kept on searching.

Finally, seven hyperlinks later, he found what he was looking for. This one was titled _Murdered YouTuber’s Wife Released after Questioning._ Beneath the headline, the article presented a picture of him with his arms around a red haired, green eyed woman. The caption beneath it read _Pictured above: Jones couple engagement photo, taken seven months prior to murder._ He leaned closer to the monitor, squinting at the photo as if it contained some hidden message within its pixels.

It was painfully obvious how _human_ he was in this picture. His eyes were a normal shade of brown, rather than the inhuman gray on green he now possessed. While not exactly tan, his skin had a healthy, pinkish tint to it, as well as numerous freckles. Most of all, he looked _happy_. The Michael in the picture looked so goddamn carefree and jubilant it made present day Michael’s deathly still heart ache to look at it. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he switched his attention to the photo’s other subject.

She was quite lovely; he’d be stupid not to notice. Her smile was confident as she beamed at the cameraman, green eyes practically glowing with warmth and humor. Cheek resting against Michael’s, she grinned happily, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that would separate her from the man at her side. Michael stared at the picture, focusing all his attention upon his wife – upon Lindsay – but drew a blank. He looked into her green eyes, straining to remember something, _anything_ about the woman he’d promised his hand to while he lived. Still there was nothing; no rush of memory, no sudden realization, no burst of emotions to indicate that yes, he had known and loved this woman. He had her name _and_ her face now; what was stopping him from remembering? It was almost like something within his own skull was keeping him away from his memories of her…

While not a memory, something did finally dawn on the undead. “Son of a bitch,” he growled, “that fucking son of a bitch demon asshole cunt face!” Without thinking, he seized the mouse and slammed it down on the table in his immediate rage. As soon as he’d done it Michael jumped away, clapping both hands over his mouth and looking around for any sign of angry scientists. Luckily, it was starting to look like he wasn't actually down-

There was a much louder _thud_ from somewhere to his right. Before Michael could even think, it was followed by a thunderous roar and several more thuds. _‘Fucking fuck…’_ Michael groaned to himself, _‘I musta woken up Edgar! Fuck my ass!’_ Ryan’s minotaur creation was in a hell of a bad mood now that Michael had woken him up; his roaring was getting louder and louder, as were the various thuds and crashes. Swearing madly, Michael hurried back to the computer, closed the browser window, and threw himself beneath the desk. Literally seconds later the lights in the lab went up and he heard someone running down the stairs. He pushed himself as far underneath the desk as he could and waited.

“…fuck’s going on,” he heard Ryan grumble as he walked past, “I fucking fed you this evening, Jesus Christ.” From his vantage point beneath the table, the undead caught a brief glimpse of the scientist’s coat as he hurried toward the Hole’s steel door. Michael waited until he heard the door swing shut with a _clang_ before scrambling out from under the table and sprinting for the door. He knew he’d be busted in the morning – Ryan didn't have cameras everywhere for nothing – but at least then he’d have the other three assholes there to back him up, or, at the very least, take some of the flak. Not even bothering to keep quiet he raced up the stairs and slammed his hand down on the red button. The door swung open and he was out of there in a flash.

Back in the guestroom, Ray and Gavin had both been woken up and were rubbing their eyes when Michael ran in. Both of them blinked blearily at the undead as he shut the door and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“The fuck’s going on?” the werewolf yawned.

“Michael, it’s too early for this,” Gavin whined.

“Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep!” Michael proceeded to dive into the bed and bury his head in the musty mattress. Hopefully the assholes on either side of him would either keep their traps shut or just go back to sleep. Apparently, both werewolf and sewn-together undead decided this could wait until morning and promptly went back to sleep.

He waited there for what felt like an eternity, wondering what the hell was going to happen to him. His imagination provided a great source of paranoia; he envisioned wailing alarms and howling monsters, and Ryan standing with weird obscured glasses wielding some silver screen mad science weapon. As before, nothing happened, and Michael finally began to relax. _‘Maybe I **won’t** be horribly murdered...again.’_

The thought of murder brought Michael back to what he had learned about his last night as living human being. First off, his murder hadn’t been premeditated; some asshole had tried to steal from him and his wife and ended up shooting Michael a bazillion times. Secondly, his killer was still running free. All the articles he’d seen during his search had told him that much – he was pretty damn sure anything about a murderer being caught would've been at the top of the list. That, combined with the accidental nature of the crime, made Michael’s blood boil. _‘You’d better hope I never find you, you son of a whore,’_ he thought, _‘otherwise you’ll be sorry you were ever fucking conceived, you thieving, murdering sack of bullshit!’_

More compelling than accidental murder or fleeing criminals was the thought of his mysterious wife, Lindsay. All he knew about _her_ was that they’d only been married four months or so when he was killed, she’d been clubbed in the back of the head sometime during the killing, and she had spent some time recovering in a hospital before disappearing from the media spotlight. Other than that, her name and her face, Michael had nothing else. Not being able to remember his own wife did nothing to ease the undead’s legendary temper; it fueled it further until he was practically shaking with rage.

 _‘I bet Geoff has something to do with this_ ,’ he thought, _‘I’d fucking stake my life on it if I had one.’_ The demon had been ridiculously anal about this shit from day one. From his incessant prattling about rules to him nearly biting Ray’s head off for mentioning Lindsay, Geoff had been cockblocking any attempt Michael made to find out about himself. His being unable to remember her had to have something to do with the demon – it just _had_ to.

 _‘Fuck these rules and fuck any sort of punishment, I am gonna fucking find out **everything,** ’ _he told himself. _‘I’m gonna learn everything left about myself, even if I have to kick Geoff’s ass back to Hell to do it. I’m gonna go major Sherlock on this shit.’_ His brief flash of angry determination faded quickly, and he sagged limply into the mattress. _‘Not that it’ll change anything. I’ll still be a fucking dead bitch; I’ll just be a fucking dead bitch with a living wife and a shit-ton of baggage.’_

For the first time since his unlife had begun a week and a half ago, Michael realized he couldn't feel his heart beating anymore.

* * *

 

After a few hours of constricted tossing and turning, Michael finally decided to give up trying to sleep. Once again he had to worm his way to the foot of the bed and carefully step off onto the floor. Something in their supernatural makeup had apparently gifted the other two lads with the ability to sleep likes logs, for neither of them stirred as Michael exited the bedroom. He let out a breath of relief and made his way downstairs.

The first thing he noticed was the delicious smell of frying eggs, bacon grease and coffee. A most incredible sense of longing welled in him for the first time since he’d ordered that pizza for Ryan. For a brief moment he entertained the idea of fucking his undead status and gorging himself on breakfast foods. While it would provide some temporary relief, the thought of Ryan and his stomach pump was enough to convince Michael that any sort of consumption, excessive or otherwise, would be a terrible idea. _‘I fucking hate being dead,’_ he thought bitterly, and not for the last time.

Upon entering the dining room, he saw that Jack was sitting at the kitchen table. The swamp monster looked better than he had the night before, if only because he seemed a little chipper. He sat back in his chair and sipped coffee from a cracked Georgia Southern mug, watching the kitchen expectantly. He looked over at Michael as the undead walked in and set the mug down. “Good morning, Michael,” he greeted.

“Morning, Jack,” Michael muttered back. “Um, is your leg any better today?”

“It’s much better now.” Jack reached down and scratched the bandage bound tightly around his leg. “More itchy than anything else.”

“Fucking sweet, dude.” Michael grabbed the chair directly across from Jack, but did not move to sit down. “How was the Hole? You sleep okay?”

Jack grimaced. “Not really.”

Feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, Michael gripped the back of the chair and did his best to look nonchalant. “Yeah? Did Ryan fuck up the tank or something?”

“Nah, the tank was great. I was woken up because something fucking _roared._ It scared the hell out of me; I thought I was gonna be eaten!”

“That sucks,” said Michael. His grip on the chair tightened.

“And this _after_ Ryan said nothing would make any noise while I was sleeping!” Jack picked his mug back up and slurped his coffee in a contemplative fashion. “He looked pretty pissed when I saw him last night. Must have been as surprised about it as I was.”

Had he been alive, Michael would have started sweating at that point. As it was, he gripped the chair tighter still and put on his most compelling poker face. “Pissed, huh? Who the fuck cares if some monster starts throwing a hissy fit?”

“Ryan, apparently. He looked about ready to kill someone last night after he got the thing to calm down.”

There was a sharp _crack_ ; when Michael looked down he saw that the wood beneath his fingers was starting to splinter. He let the chair go and put his hands behind his back. “That doesn't sound good.”

“You think?” Jack took another sip of coffee and squinted at the kitchen. “Ryan, you done yet?”

“Almost,” came the reply. “Hold your fucking horses.”

“You realize I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, right?”

“Well, that’s your fault, isn't it?”

Swallowing nervously, Michael slowly edged into the kitchen. Ryan was standing at the stove; clearly he was the one cooking breakfast, then. For once he wasn't wearing his lab coat, forgoing it for what looked like an apron of some sort. The scientist stood there, apparently unaware that he was no longer alone, calmly working on whatever was in the skillet. “Morning, Ryan,” Michael greeted cautiously.

Ryan glanced over at him before turning back to his work. “Hi, Michael.” The scientist also sounded like he was purposefully trying to stay casual. “You, uh, sleep well last night?”

“Like the dead. Cause, y’know, I’m dead.”

“That’s good, that’s good.”

Ryan’s too-light tone made Michael feel incredibly nervous. He cast his mind around for some sort of conversational topic, but all he could think of was, “I, uh, didn't know you could…cook.”

“Really? I live all by myself and you think I wouldn't know how to cook? I’m a fucking _scientist_ who makes my own machines and compounds and shit, and you think I’d be stymied by a fucking stove?”

“I s’pose you have a point.” He let out a nervous chuckle and leaned against the counter. “I’m fucking dumb.”

“Uh huh.” Ryan brought the skillet over to a pair of plates on the counter and proceeded to dole out four fried eggs and several rashers of bacon. “S’ready, Jack.”

“Finally!” the swamp monster exclaimed. “Thought you’d never finish.”

“It’s been, like, _five_ minutes, Jack. Jesus Christ.” The scientist gathered up the plates and brought them to the table, after undoing the strings of his apron and tossing it onto the counter.

“I _told_ you, I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon!” The swamp monster saw the plates in Ryan’s hands and sat up in his chair. “Oh man that looks good.”

Setting one plate and fork before the swamp monster, Ryan sat down at the head of the table and started eating. Michael licked his lips and watched them with more than a little jealousy. It didn't help that Jack looked so goddamn _happy_ about the whole thing. Man, what he wouldn't give for a working digestive tract…

“So, Michael,” Ryan started. His mouth was full of egg, so it ended up sounding more like “Sho Miko.”

“Swallow first, asshole. Fucking animal over here.”

The scientist swallowed and said, with a coolness so obvious it had to be fake, “So, Michael…you wanna tell me what you were doing in my lab last night?”

“What makes you think I was in your lab last night?” Michael automatically replied.

“Oh, you know…” Ryan waved his fork in Michael’s general direction, gesticulating in a vague circular pattern. “All the security measures on my door were wiped, nine of my camera feeds were fucked up, your name was in my Google search history, Edgar got all riled up…and all of my interior cameras saw you going down there.”

“Goddammit,” the undead cursed, “why couldn't I have been a fucking vampire or something?”

“So…”

“Yeah, okay, fine. I did it. I broke into your stupid fucking lab so I could use your stupid fucking computer. I wanted to find out more about myself, but the only computer you fucking own is the one with all the camera feeds on it.” Michael held up his hands and gestured vaguely to the sky. “Fucking guilty as charged.”

“Wait, so _you_ were the one who woke up that monster?!” Jack exclaimed. “Motherfucker!”

“So I got a little frustrated; who gives a shit?”

“I couldn't sleep because of that thing, you asshole!”

Ryan shushed Jack with a wave of his hand. “That’s all great and stuff, but would you mind explaining to me just _how_ you fucked up my door?”

“Friend of mine told me there was a code you could put in a vending machine to activate the maintenance override. Thought it might work on the door, and it did. Boy was _I_ surprised.” Michael frowned at this. “Fuck, I remember useless shit like this, but I can’t remember anything about my friends or family? I fucking _hate_ this curse!”

“Well, your little maintenance override trick wiped all my goddamn security on the door. It’ll take me a day to get it back in working order, _at minimum._ ” Ryan speared his egg yolk in a particularly vindictive fashion. “I hope it was fucking worth it.”

“Hardly. Most of what I found out was stuff I already knew.” Michael leaned back against the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Plus I, uh, had to scramble my ass outta there when a certain _something_ woke up.”

“ _That’s_ another thing – I have no idea _what_ you did, but whatever it was, it got Edgar well and truly pissed off. I almost had to tranq the fucker to get him to go back to sleep. Thirty minutes it took me to get him to calm down: _thirty fucking minutes._ ” Ryan glared at Michael over the top of his glasses. “The fuck did you do to him?”

“Nothing! All that happened was I got pissed at the computer and got a little, uh, _vocal,_ and I guess the fucking cow heard me from down in his hole, and got all upset about it. I didn't touch your little pet, okay?” He glared right back at the scientist, secretly quailing under his intense scrutiny. “I guess he’s just fucking sensitive or some shit.”

“That _is_ true, yes.” Ryan sighed and adjusted his glasses.

“I've fucking spilled _all_ the beans now. You happy?”

“Happy? Fuck no. Satisfied, maybe, but not happy. You've just given me a _whole_ lot more work to do, on _top_ of all the shit Gavin’s done. I have to reprogram my door, reset the camera feeds – _again_ – and soundproof Edgar’s hole – _again._ ”

Ryan’s voice had, at this point, gained a vindictive edge that Michael did not like one bit. “Um…on a scale of one to ten, how fucked am I?”

The scientist contemplated this for a little bit as he munched on some bacon. “Right now, you’re at about a seven on the _‘Totally Fucking Boned’_ scale.”

The undead swallowed nervously. “You…gonna do anything to me?”

“Maybe,” the scientist replied in an almost playful fashion, “but not right now. Later. When I have time.”

“Man, Geoff was not wrong,” Jack commented, “you are one weird motherfucker.”

“I know.”

The mention of the demon’s name reminded Michael why he had been so pissed last night. _‘Fucking demon cunt…if he shows his face around here any time soon, I’ll have something to fucking say to him.’_ His hands curled into fists within his pockets, and if he’d been alive, he knew his face would be turning a bright tomato red. _‘Why the fuck should he hold out on me? Haven’t I been through enough already?’_

Something in his fist suddenly bit into his palm; reflexively he pulled his hand out of his pocket and looked at it. _‘This is the business card Geoff gave me the first night I was here,’_ he realized. _‘I thought I’d lost the damn thing. Then again, I guess it **is** demonic.’ _As he stared down at the fairly plain white rectangle sitting oh so innocently in his palm, a thought crossed his mind. _‘He **did** say only to use it in an emergency…can’t think of anything more urgent than this shit.’_

“Hey, Ryan,” Michael said slowly, “can I use your phone?”

“What, so you can fuck up my phone like you did my door and camera feeds?”

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry already! Fucking _let it go_! Also, I am not fucking Frankenstein: I don’t break everything I fucking touch, asswipe.” Michael took a breath in an attempt to calm himself down. “Anyway, I wanna call Geoff and fucking ask him why he didn't tell me I have a wife who’s still alive!”

Ryan froze in mid-bite, and Jack choked on a mouthful of egg. Both of them looked at Michael like he had asparagus growing out of his ears. “I, uh, _really_ don’t think that’s…a good idea,” Ryan warned.

“Fucking… _terrible…_ idea,” Jack coughed.

“Think about it, Michael: Geoff brought you back from the dead. He could very well send you right back to Hell if you piss him off.”

“I’ll fucking take that chance, Ryan. _Anything_ would be better than what I have right now. _Literally anything!”_ Michael slammed his fist down on the table, causing the mostly empty plates to jump an inch of the table and creating a fist-shaped dent in the aged wood. Both swamp monster and scientist started to the point where they nearly fell out of their chairs, but they managed to steady themselves and stay upright and seated. “I’m _done_ with this undead shit. I was done from _day fucking one._ Fuck any sort of punishment and fuck the rules! I want to know about me, and I _sure as hell_ want to know about my wife.”

Ryan and Jack looked at each other. “It’s not just you that’ll get punished if you start crossing lines, dude,” the scientist finally said. “Geoff’ll be in pretty deep shit too.”

“He _is_ the contract broker,” Jack agreed. “His ass’ll get roasted by his higher ups if someone breaches their contract.”

“Don’t people who breach demonic contracts go to Hell anyway?”

“Sure, but that doesn't mean the higher ups like it. I hear that means a _lot_ of paperwork.”

Michael blinked. “Demons have paperwork?”

“Doesn't everybody?” Jack asked glibly.

He shook his head. “That’s not the – I mean – how the fuck do you know all this shit?”

“We’re both friends with one of the most curmudgeonly demons in existence; you start picking shit up.” Ryan nodded his agreement with this statement. “You have to understand: Geoff complains _a lot._ ”

“Okay, I get that _you,_ ” here Michael pointed to Jack, “would know all this shit, because you’re a fucking monster, and he’s a fucking monster, but what about you, Ryan? You may be a fucking weird as shit monstrous murdery mad science fuck, but you’re still a regular guy. How did you meet up with these fucks?”

Ryan shrugged. “You know.”

“No, I don’t know! Like, did you meet up on Facebook? Did you run into each other at a bar one night? Or maybe you were-” Michael suddenly had a brainwave; it was so obvious now that he really thought about it. “You didn't.”

“Didn't what?” Ryan raised one eyebrow.

“You fucking made a deal with him, didn't you. That’s why you know so much about this shit.”

“I mean, you don’t have to have made a demonic deal to understand how a contract works…”

“Just answer the question, fuckface.”

Ryan inclined his head, and the light once again turned his glasses into flat white disks. “I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“What – it’s completely relevant! It’s so fucking relevant! You’re fucking taking Geoff’s side because you’re worried about your own damn contract!”

“Or, you know, I could be looking out for your well-being.”

“Great. Tell me another one.”

Ryan opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the pounding of feet on the stairs. Seconds later, Gavin burst into the room, tripped over his own feet and careened to the ground with a squeal of outrage. “Morning, asshole,” Michael guffawed, “fucking tripped over yourself again, huh?”

“Fucking amazing.” Ray entered the room at a much more modest pace, looked down at Gavin and shook his head. “You’re a real piece of work, Gavin.”

“The floor’s effing uneven in this place!” the other undead bawled. “Anusing heck, fix your floor, Ryan!”

“While this house _is_ a piece of shit, I think you tripping is more to do with the fact that you’re a dead body held together with thread who’s uncoordinated as all hell.” Michael bent over and pulled Gavin to his feet. “Don’t blame your shortcomings on the house, dude.”

Still grumbling slightly, Gavin dusted himself off and looked around. His mismatched eyes eventually landed on the empty plates in front of Ryan and Jack. “Is there breakfast? Sweet. I’m right peckish.”

“You’ll have to make your own,” the scientist stated.

“Aw, what? Why?”

“If you wanted me to feed you, you should have gotten up earlier. That’s how it fucking works.”

“This is right bollocks. If I were at a hotel-”

“Does this look like a hotel to you?” Michael snorted.

“I’m certainly not getting paid to look after your ass,” Ryan grumbled.

“Also, hotels stop serving breakfast after a certain time, dipshit. You fucking missed the window.”

Ray stepped past the other two lads and into the kitchen. “Fuck it, I’ll get myself a bowl of cereal or something.”

Michael groaned very slightly. “…I fucking _hate_ being dead.”

“I have a stomach pump,” Ryan practically sang.

“Thanks, Ryan, you always know _just_ what to say.”

“You’re welcome.” Ryan gathered up his and Jack’s empty plates and walked over to put them in the sink. “Bowls are in this cupboard,” he muttered to Ray, gesturing to a cupboard with his elbow.

“Thanks, man.”

Gavin proceeded to take the chair Ryan had just vacated and looked expectantly at the kitchen. “You know he said you have to get your _own_ breakfast, right, Gavin?” Jack told him.

“There’s too many people in there, yeah? I’m gonna wait. Be bloody patient and shite.”

“You? Be patient? I didn't think it was possible.”

“I don’t know what that means. Everybody can be patient, you dope!”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is true, you donut!”

While they started arguing, and the two R’s were busy in the kitchen, Michael took this chance to exit the dining room and returned to the main living room. Nearly a week ago, when he’d ordered the pizza for Ryan, he’d used an antique rotary phone somewhere in the entrance hall, mostly because it had been early in his and Ryan’s relationship, and the scientist had decided not to trust him with his Evo. He looked down at the card still in his left hand, trying to memorize the number written upon it. When he finally got to the phone, he set the card beside the cracked porcelain POS and picked up the receiver. Unfortunately for Michael, the line had since been cut, as there wasn't even an idle tone playing when he placed his ear against the receiver. _‘Fucking paranoid piece of shit. Probably cut it when he realized it could be traced back to his house. Asshole.’_

More out of rage than anything else, Michael dialed Geoff’s number and waited. To his surprise, there was a dial tone, three rings, a click, and then he heard Geoff’s tired voice on the other end of the line. “The fuck do you want?”

“Um, hi, Geoff,” Michael said. “I, uh, didn't think this would work.”

“Why not? I gave you my number, right?”

“Well,” Michael leaned down and picked up the frayed wire that had once connected the old phone to the phone lines, “the line appears to be cut.”

“I’m a fucking demon, dude; do you think I use phone lines and phone towers and shit? No, because I’m a demon with fucking awesome powers. No matter what kind of dead-ass phone you call me from, I’ll get it.”

“So, I could use, like, a fucking Playskool phone and reach you?”

“I…guess? Urgh,” the demon groaned, “why are you calling me this early in the morning? I have a fucking hangover, you know.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Michael took a deep breath and said, “We gotta talk, Geoff.”

“Bout what?”

“About my wife.”

There was a long pause. “I’m going to kill that werewolf and nail his hide to the wall,” the demon growled. Michael half expected steam to start leaking out of the phone. “Fucking loose-lipped bitch.”

“It wasn't Ray! It was me! I broke into Ryan’s lab and Googled all that shit last night! I wanted to know! I _still_ want to know! Why didn't you _tell_ me any of this shit?!”

“…Okay, so it’s _Ryan’s_ ass I gotta whup, then. Fucking hold the phone, ‘cause I am _definitely_ gonna shred that asshole’s asshole.”

“Don’t do _that,_ either. Ryan’s just as mad as you are about this. Apparently I messed up a whole bunch of his machines when I busted into his lab. He’s threatened to do something to me as soon as he has time.”

“I’ll kill him if he tries, goddammit. Still, I am _so_ fucking pissed about this. You were _not_ supposed to know this! I _may_ have messed up the spell, but _that_ part I got right.”

“Why wasn't I supposed to know about this?! She’s my fucking-” The second part of Geoff’s statement finally hit Michael like a ton of bricks. “Wait, _what?!_ You _messed up my fucking spell?!_ ”

“Um, ahem, no, of course not.” Geoff was quiet again. “Tell you what, I’m coming over there.”

“Geoff, wait, no, I-” Michael was cut off by the line going completely dead. “Fuck!”

“What’s going on?” Michael turned to see Ryan standing behind him. “Heard you screaming,” he explained.

“I, uh, may have just fucked both of us right in the anus.”

The scientist’s brow furrowed. “How s-” The word fell short as Ryan saw the phone receiver in Michael’s hand. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yeah. We’re both in the shitter now, Ryan.”

The scientist sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I _told_ you calling him was a bad idea. Just tell me he wasn't hungover.”

“Lemme guess – he’s more of an ass when he’s been drinking?”

“Good God.” Ryan ran a hand through his hair. “You've thoroughly fucked us.”

“I know, I know.” Michael grimaced. “I guess we should just man up and face it, huh.”

“We could… _or_ we could hide out in the lab.”

“Do you really want him to have to _look_ for you? The guy may not be the best demon, but he _does_ have those fucking flames of his.”

“Hm. Good point. All right, guess we’ll have to take it like men.” Ryan straightened up, dusted off his shirt and adjusted his glasses. “I can handle _one_ angry demon. I think. Plus I don’t think he’ll actually do anything to hurt you. You _are_ his pet project.”

“Well, there’s that, I guess.” Michael put his hands back in his pockets and glanced over at the side table with the phone. Unsurprisingly, the business card with Geoff’s number had vanished into thin air. “Guess we should get ready for one pissed off demon, huh?”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Fine. Let’s do this thing.”


	16. A Monstrous Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff is supremely pissed off by Michael’s phone call, and boy don’t they know it. Shit promptly goes down.

“Don’t play with that.”

Michael looked up from the unfinished tangle of wire and spare parts he was toying with and frowned. “Why the fuck not? I’m not hurting it.”

“Let’s just assume that everything in here has a big ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ sign on it…or that it has herpes.”

Michael yanked his hand away. “Ew! Fucking gross, dude!”

“I didn’t mean that _literally._ Anyway, got you to stop messing with it, didn’t I?”

Michael carefully wiped his hands on his pants anyway and went to stand by Ryan. They had decided that retreating to the lab was probably the best option for them to take after all, especially since a hungover and pissed off Geoff was coming for their asses. At that moment the scientist was sitting in front of his three computer monitors, watching the camera feeds carefully, waiting for the demon to arrive.

“See anything yet?” Michael asked.

Ryan glanced over at the screen on the far left, where all his outside camera feeds were playing. “Nope. Not a thing.”

“Are we _absolutely_ sure he’s coming?”

“Pretty positive.” He leaned forward and squinted at the feeds. “Wait a second…nope. Nothing.”

“Don’t fucking scare me like that.” Michael turned away and ran a hand through his hair. “Remember when I asked you how fucked I was this morning?”

“Yeah…”

“Now that Geoff’s on our asses….how fucked are we?”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Yeah.”

“Um….I’d say we’re averaging a nine. Maybe a nine and a half.”

“Great. Fucking fantastic.”

“Oh, it gets better.”

The undead spun around. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“He’s here,” Ryan announced grimly.

“Fuck.” Michael ran back over and stared down at the screen. “You’re _shitting_ me.”

“Nope. There he is.” Ryan pointed at the feed in the top middle. A shadowy figure had appeared on the pathway and was beginning to approach the house. “Last words?”

“I hope he gets you first.”

“Don’t worry, he will.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Ryan watched as Geoff appeared on several more of the feeds and walked toward the house. “Actually, I thought he would’ve been here a while ago. Guess the hangover’s making him slower than usual.” Ryan tapped out a few commands on his keyboard, and the screens switched to a different set of feeds. “Damn, he looks pissed…whoops.”

“Whoops? Whoops what? Don’t fucking say ‘whoops,’ Ryan, we’re fucked enough as it is!”

“Looks like…I forgot…to clear all the holding pentagrams again.”

“ _Seriously?!_ So now we’re dealing with an angry, hungover demon trapped in a fucking sealing pentagram _again_? Something which he’s told you to get rid of only a _thousand_ fucking times?!” Michael threw his hands up and walked toward the giant freezer. “Just fucking end me right now. Fucking light a match and torch me.”

“I…don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“And why’s that, Mr. Fucking Crazy Scientist?”

“Cause Geoff’s burning.”

“Like…420 blazing it, or…?”

“No, I mean _literally_ burning.” The scientist waved Michael over and pointed at his monitor. “Look, he’s actually on fire.”

Michael walked over and looked at the camera feeds. All nine of them showed a brilliant blue-white column of fire sitting right in the middle of the overgrown gravel path. If he squinted, he could just make out the humanoid shape in the midst of the flames. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?”

“If I were to guess, I’d say he’s-” A sudden sharp squeal of static burst from Ryan’s speakers, causing both of them to jerk away from the computer. Behind them, several beakers and test tubes shattered and sprayed their backs with shards of glass. “…just really pissed,” Ryan finished, a mite weakly. He pulled out his microphone and switched it on. “Hello, Geoff.”

“You are the biggest fucking cunt in the history of cunts, you shitfuck!” the demon roared.

“Nice to see you too,” the scientist muttered.

“Oh, ha ha, _very_ funny! You know what, I have half a mind to shred you into a billion fucking pieces right now if you _don’t_ fucking get me out of here!”

“That would be impressive, considering you can’t break the pentagram without me.”

Several of the camera feeds went to static as the demon’s flames grew higher. “Oh, just give me a reason, you fuck. Give me a goddamn reason and I _will_ fucking _end_ you!”

“You know,” Michael muttered, “I think he’s angry enough already _without_ you fucking antagonizing him. Maybe, just _maybe,_ we should humor him. You know, so we _don’t_ die a horrible, fiery death.”

“You _do_ have a point,” the scientist agreed. “Hang tight, Geoff. I’ll be right there.”

“You’d _better,_ ” the demon grumbled. “Otherwise your ass is fucking grass.”

“I get it – I fucked up. Jesus, I’m _coming_ already. Fuck.” Ryan pushed himself out of the chair and walked toward the stairs. “C’mon, Michael, we’d better go set him free.”

“Man, we’re _so_ fucked.” Michael stepped carefully over the shattered glass and followed the scientist out of the lab.

“‘We’?”

“Yeah, _we._ What, you think he’s not gonna blame you for anything?”

“No, I _know_ he’s gonna be pissed at me. Somehow _everything_ is my fault to him. I don’t think he’s gonna be mad at _you_ so much.”

“You didn’t hear him when we were on the phone, dude.” Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and slouched miserably. “This fucking blows.”

“You think?” Ryan punched the button to open the door and stormed out. “So…how about those last words?”

“You think I remember?”

“No, I mean, right now what are your last words?”

“Right now my last words are ‘fuck the hell off.’”

“Man, why’s everybody mad at me? What’d I do?”

“What _didn’t_ you do?”

 “The hell does that even mean?”

“You’re just an asshole, all right? You’re a fucking paranoid, completely crazy dickhead who spends all his time cutting things apart.”

“…I don’t _just_ cut things up,” Ryan grumbled.

Michael barely managed to step into the kitchen before the steel door swung shut with a _clang._ “Yeah? What else do you fucking do?”

“Well, I make those machines you were playing with, and I made all those chemicals Gavin threw on the floor. I do all kinds of shit.”

“I guess you have a point.”

Ryan shook his head. “Man, I wish you guys would stop breaking my shit. I’m gonna have to order a whole new set of beakers from Amazon now.”

“…You get your stuff from Amazon?”

“Sometimes.”

“Don’t you need a valid address and a credit card number to get that shit?”

“I have my ways.”

“…You gonna tell me?”

“Nah.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“I know.”

As they moved into the living room, they saw that Gavin was playing _GTA V_ again while Ray and Jack watched. He paused the game and looked at Michael. “What’s goin’ on, Michael?”

“I dunno, Gavin. What _is_ going on?”

“Thought I heard someone shouting outside or somethin’.”

“Yeah, I heard it too,” Ray agreed.

Jack looked at Ryan and Michael’s miserable faces and put two and two together. “…It’s Geoff, isn’t it.”

“Fucking nailed it, bro.”

“Geoff? Why’s he here?”

“Because he missed us so much,” Michael quipped.

“Really?”

“Fuck no! You think he likes hanging out with four asshole monsters and a mad scientist? Cause I know _I_ wouldn’t.”

“Aw, Michael…”

“There you go _again_ with the ‘Ooo Micool’ shit! You think that’s cute or something?” Michael shook his head. “You are a fucking mong, you know that?”

“Why? Why’m I a mong?”

“You know why!”

Ray cleared his throat. “Uh, I think Geoff is still outside, guys.” As if to reinforce what the werewolf had just said, there was a muffled yell from the front lawn, and Michael thought he heard something break. “Yeah, Geoff’s still outside. And he sounds pretty pissed.”

“Let’s go, Michael, before Geoff blows everything up.” Ryan started off down the hall, and Michael trailed after him, kicking forlornly at the worn carpeting. “You wanna pick up the pace there, or…”

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Jesus.” Michael tugged on the hem of his shirt and took a deep breath. _‘Let’s fucking face the music, then.’_

As the front door swung open, both Ryan and Michael were blinded by the bright blue-white column of flame directly in the center of the yard. A faint black outline of a humanoid form could barely be glimpsed amongst the flames, though his burning red and black eyes were perfectly clear and horrifically angry. “It’s about fucking time, you douchebag!” he snapped. “Get me out of here!”

“You think you could get rid of the fucking _inferno_ first?" Ryan asked. "I kinda _don’t_ want to burn to death.”

“Shoulda thought of that _before_ laying down your fucking pentagram traps, dickhead!” The demon hissed angrily, his forked tongue flicking out from between eerily glowing fangs. “Cause, you know what – I have half a mind to just _burn_ you.”

“Uh, please don’t. Look, just…settle down and I’ll set you free.”

Geoff let out an annoyed huff, but at least his flames started dying down. A smoldering ring of blackened grass surrounded the demon and his glowing circle of a prison, sparking woefully as the fires receded. As soon as the heat faded to a more acceptable, less flesh-melting level, Ryan moved forward and swept a large part of the circle away with his foot. Immediately after the red glow faded, Geoff strode toward Ryan with murder written all over his face.

“Um, Geoff, maybe we should, uh, think about this first,” the scientist wheedled. “I, um, _really_ don’t want to die. Please?”

“ _You,_ ” the demon snarled, “should shut your mouth before I fucking shut it for you. Do you know _how_ much shit you are in, asshole? A _lot._ A _lot_ of shit.”

“What’d I do?! I’m not Michael's fucking keeper, Geoff! Do you want me to lock him in a fucking cage? Put a chain and collar on him? He’s still a fucking person, Geoff!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you _did,_ ‘cause you fucking put everything else in the goddamn world in cages! Anyway, you’re not _supposed_ to cage him, dickhead – _you’re just supposed to keep an eye on him!_ That shouldn’t be too hard with all those fucking cameras you have!”

Michael watched them argue with all the attention of someone watching a tennis match. _‘They sure do like to butt heads, the fucking assholes.’_ He tugged at the collar of his shirt and glared at them. “Hey, assholes, are you guys gonna stand there and scream at each other all day? Cause, I dunno about you, but it’s hot out here and I’m ready to go back inside.”

Geoff, who had been about to launch into another tirade of shouting, blinked and looked over at Michael. “Wait – _Michael?!_ What the fuck are you doing outside?!”

“I’m fucking wondering that myself! It’s hot as hell out here!”

“Michael, it’s, like, fifty fucking degrees!”

“Um, Michael?” Ryan interrupted. His gaze was fixated on the undead’s left shoulder. “I, uh, hate to interrupt, but I, uh, think…you’re…starting to smoke.”

“Huh?” Michael looked down at his arm. His skin was turning a livid shade of pink, and the fabric of his t-shirt was smoking as several tiny black spots appeared and began spreading like blots of ink on paper. “Holy _fucking crap!_ ” He started beating madly at his arms and shoulders, which did absolutely nothing to stop the increase of smoke. In a blind panic he yelled louder and started running. He felt hot, so very hot, and not in a good way; all he could think about was the beaker full of blood that had exploded at the mere touch of a flame. Apparently, like the zombies in _Minecraft_ and the vampires in everything except _Twilight_ , he was extremely vulnerable to sunlight as well as fire. _‘I’m gonna fucking **die!** ’_

“Get out of the fucking sun, you idiot!” He was rather ungraciously shoved by what felt like a four-armed man; he stumbled and fell to the ground. “Fucking Christ, do you want to burn to a goddamn crisp?!”

“Don’t just _shove_ him, Geoff! Jesus!” He was then lifted up like a sack of groceries and thrown onto a splintery wooden surface. Relief was immediate; he felt like he’d jumped into a swimming pool full of ice water.

“Holy hell,” he sighed. “I thought I was about to eat shit and die.”

“You almost _did_ , Michael. Hell, you were smoking like a fucking chimney!” Michael opened his eyes and saw Geoff and Ryan leaning over him. “Why the fuck would you come outside during the day, asshole?”

“I didn’t _know,_ Geoff! Give me a break; I’m still figuring this shit out!” Slowly the undead pushed himself to his feet.

“You didn’t _know?!_ How could you _not?!_ You’re a fucking creature of the night, dude! It’s pretty fucking literal!”

“‘Creature of the night’ doesn’t always translate to fucking _burn in sunlight!_ ”

“He does have a point,” Ryan noted.

“ _You_ fucking stay out of this. I am _this_ close to just…just…UGH!” Geoff got to his feet and stomped toward the door. “I need a fucking drink.”

“It’s not even ten a.m. yet.”

“I know! You assholes drive me to drink, I swear.”

“I’m pretty sure _you_ drive you to drink, Geoff.”

“You know what? Just shut up. Everybody shut up. Christ almighty.” He stormed toward the door and thrust out his hand. There was a massive hissing noise, and a giant red spot appeared on the door. Slowly the heavy steel door melted, collapsing on itself as rivers of molten steel pooled on the porch. Geoff stepped over the sad remains of the door and marched inside without a backward glance.

“Jesus.” Michael looked down and gently nudged a pile of molten slag with his toe. “He’s _really_ fucking pissed.”

“Goddammit! Why’s everybody gotta be breaking my shit?!” Ryan stared down at the slightly bubbly puddle of melted steel that had once been a thick, triple-bolted steel door. “This-why the-does he know-fuck!” He let out a frustrated huff and jumped over the doorframe.

“We should probably stop him before he burns down the house, huh?”

“That would be great, yeah,” Ryan grumbled. “I’ve lost enough shit already.”

Michael nodded and followed Ryan through the foyer. Geoff’s angry stomping was so loud they could hear it echoing all throughout the house. _‘Man, this fucking blows,’_ Michael thought bitterly. _‘Anything else happens, Ryan and Geoff’ll have to fucking duke it out or something. Wonder what a fight between a mad scientist and a demon would look like…fuck, that’s just like the plot of_ Ghostbusters! _Maybe Ryan has that orange lightning gun, and Geoff has a fugly dog who used to be Rick Moranis. Shit, now I’m kinda curious.’_

The duo entered the living room and saw the other three guys huddling on the couch. “Holy _shit_ Geoff is pissed,” Jack said as they passed. “I have _never_ seen him that angry before. The fuck did you guys _do?”_

“Hey, I had _nothing_ to do with this.”

“You absolutely had something to do with this, you stab-happy asshole!” Michael retorted. “You laid out those fucking demon traps after he told you not to a zillion fucking times! And, of course, he got stuck _again_ and got fucking pissed beyond all belief! If it wasn’t for you, we coulda talked him down, man! We coulda sat him down and fucking had a heart-to-heart chat with the fuck and avoided this whole clusterfuck.”

“What – _he’s_ the one who keeps walking into the fucking things! I can’t exactly make him smarter, now can I?”

“I heard that, you motherfucker!” Something in the kitchen slammed open and there was a soft, almost musical tinkling. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna just help myself…”

“Get the hell outta my fridge, you asshole!” The scientist ran at full tilt toward the kitchen. Michael thought about hiding out with the others, but then decided he might be needed to mediate…or fight. Either way, he didn’t want to miss this train wreck.

Geoff was currently tearing through Ryan’s fridge like there was no tomorrow. The leftover barbecue had been thrown to the ground and promptly busted open, spilling moldy brisket all over the kitchen tiles. One of the white packages was on the counter next to Geoff’s tail and was now oozing all over the aged Formica. Ryan had reached Geoff at this point and was trying to pull him out of the fridge. “Get the fuck outta my fridge, Geoff!”

“In a minute, I’m trying to find something!” Geoff came out holding the flask of bright yellow explosive fluid. “Here we go.”

Ryan yelped and jumped back. “Jesus, put that down! I know you’re mad, but-”

“What? You think I’m gonna blow you up? Dude, if I wanted to do that, I could use my fucking magic, not your piss-colored explosives.” Using his thumb-claw, Geoff popped the rubber stopper out of the flask’s neck. It hit Michael in the eye and bounced off the side of Ryan’s head before spiraling into the kitchen corner. Geoff paid them no heed and sniffed the liquid. “Ugh. Smells like gasoline.” He thought for a second before shrugging. “Eh, I’ve drunk worse.”

“Wait, don’t-”

Too late; Geoff had put the flask to his lips and taken a huge swig of explosive. “Holy shit, that tastes fucking awful.” His forked tongue flicked out from between his lips for a contemplative second. “Aftertaste isn’t so bad, though. Fuck it.” With that, he tipped the rest of the concoction down and set the empty beaker onto the counter.

“Uh…why the fuck did you just drink a fucking explosive?” Michael asked. “You have a fucking death wish or something?”

“You seriously think this shit can hurt me? Dude, I’ve drunk napalm and come out unscathed. Fucking demon, remember? M’all awesome and shit. Anyway, there’s no alcohol in this house. Have to fucking use what I got.” Geoff let out a loud belch, and pitch black smoke poured out of his mouth. “Jesus, that stuff packs a _hell_ of a punch.”

“ _Really,_ Geoff?! Did you _have_ to fucking drink it?” Ryan slammed the fridge shut and glared at the demon. “I hadn’t even tested that one yet!”

“Fucking A-plus, dude. Seven out of ten would drink again.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Could use some work on the flavor, though. Terrible vintage.”

“Dammit, I’m a scientist, not a fucking…alcohol…brewer…guy.”

Geoff idly leaned back against the fridge and crossed his arms. “Kinda lost your train of thought on that one, huh?”

“I…yeah.”

The demon belched again and licked his lips. “So…Michael?”

The undead jumped and looked at Geoff. “What?”

“You want to explain why you remember anything about Lindsay?”

“That’s-I don’t remember _anything_ about her! That’s why I had to look that fucking shit up!”

“You know what I mean, asshole. You remember her name and shit. That’s not supposed to happen.”

Michael glared suspiciously at the demon. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You aren’t supposed to remember anything that could jeopardize the contract.” Geoff idly twirled his mustache with one claw and bit his lip. “If it could cause you to go back to being a pile of fucking meat, you forget it.”

“And why would knowing about Lindsay jeopardize my contract, exactly?”

“Can’t tell you, dude.”

“ _Seriously?!_ ”

“You’re lucky I could tell you that much.”

“Honestly…” Both of them looked at Ryan, who shifted awkwardly and put his hands in his pockets. “…it’s, uh, really not that hard to figure out.”

“Fucking smartass over here,” Michael muttered.

“No, really, it’s _so_ fucking easy to figure out!”

“I still have no idea what you-” The answer hit Michael like a blow to the head, and honestly, if he’d been thinking a little bit more, he’d probably have gotten it sooner. His hands curled into fists; had he been living, his face would have started turning red. “You motherfucking cunt,” he snarled at Geoff.

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t tell me about her because _she’s_ the one who made the deal to bring me back! Fuck, I don’t know why I didn’t figure that out, like, _immediately!_ ”

Geoff sagged back against the refrigerator and blew air out through his teeth. “Fuck me. This keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

“She fucking _did,_ didn’t she?! You motherfucker!”

“I, uh, can’t tell you that,” Geoff said quickly.

“Great defense there, Geoff,” Ryan scoffed.

“Shut up, asshole. This is all _your_ fault.”

“What? What’d I do?!”

“You fucking let him on your computer, you dickbag!”

“Hey, I already told you this once: I am _not_ his fucking nanny, Geoff! I can’t watch him every second of every day!”

“Bullshit! I’ve seen all those cameras you have in your house, Mr. Paranoid Fuckhead!”

“Funnily enough, I don’t _have_ any cameras in my fucking lab!”

“Really? You don’t? Wow, you’re _slightly_ less paranoid than I gave you credit for.”

“Um…thanks?”

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

“Aw.”

“Fuck this.” Michael turned and walked away. “You guys have fun arguing or making out or whatever it is you fucks do.”

“Hey, I’m not fucking done with you yet, asshole!”

“Well, _I’m_ done.” Michael ignored the demon’s shouting and moved back into the living room. The others had, by this point, unpaused the game and resumed whatever it was they were doing. Right now it just looked like Gavin was dicking around Los Santos for some reason while Jack and Ray watched, occasionally guffawing at his horrific driving skills. “You guys having fun in here?”

“We’re doing all right,” said Jack. “So what’s Geoff’s problem, anyway?”

“He’s just mad about, y’know…stuff.” He waved his hand dismissively and sat down next to Ray. “S’up?”

Ray shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just waiting for somebody to take me home.”

“You’re pretty calm for somebody who’s pretty much been fucking kidnapped.”

“I mean, I _really_ would like to leave this shithole. S’just…nobody’ll fucking drive me.”

“If I still _had_ my car, I’d take you home.” Michael leaned back and watched as Gavin’s character jumped out of one car and was immediately run over by another. “…Hey, Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“Does it suck?”

“Does what suck?”

“Being a werewolf, I mean.”

“Nah, it’s great.”

Michael scoffed. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s _awesome._ ”

“Wouldn’t _you_ want to transform into a giant fucking monster every month? Sometimes even  _twice_ a month? Sometimes even _more_ than twice a month?” Ray let out a laugh, and then sighed. “It fucking blows giant dicks.”

“At least you’re alive.” Michael pointed to himself. “ _I_ can’t eat, drink, or do _anything_ besides walk, talk or sleep. _That_ blows giant dicks.”

“What, are we having a fucking ‘whose life sucks the most dick’ contest?”

“Wot? Why’re you talking about cocks?” Gavin had paused the game and was now staring at Michael and Ray.

“Why’d you tune in right when we started talking about dicks?” Ray retorted. “Trying to hide something?”

“No! Are _you?_ ”

“No. I’m not.”

“We’re just talking about how our lives suck serious cock,” said Michael. “Got any input, or are you happy as a fucking sewn-together pile of crap?”

“I’ve got plenty of problems, Michael.”

“Like what?”

“My arm fell off once.”

“So you have all the problems of a fucking LEGO man. Whoop de fucking do.”

“Well…I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“ _You’re_ only a little bit dead. _I’m_ fully dead.”

“What’s the fucking difference?” asked Ray.

“He has a heartbeat and can eat shit. I can’t.”

“I can eat shit?”

“Yeah, I bet you fucking eat shit all the time. That fucking car is making you eat shit right now.”

“What?” Gavin turned back to his game just in time to watch his character get smeared across the pavement by a giant black SUV. “Aw, sod it!”

“And Gavin is dead yet again,” Jack commented.

“ _You’re_ dead!” Gavin snapped.

“I’m not even playing the game, Gavin.”

“YOU ARE A FUCKING COCKSUCKER!” Everyone jumped as Geoff’s yell echoed through the house, followed closely by the demon storming out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Fucking son of a bitch-ass scientist,” he grumbled. “Why do I even fucking bother with that asshole?”

“What’s going on _now?_ ” Michael asked.

“None of your fucking business, that’s what’s going on now.” Geoff ran his hand through his hair and groaned. “God _dammit,_ I’ve had _enough_ of all this bullshit! Why can’t I ever get the easy cases? That’s what I want to know. I could get the easygoing people who follow the rules without asking three billion questions, but _no,_ Geoff gets stuck with all the retarded assholes.” He flopped down on the couch and let his head fall against the wall with a _thunk._ “I need a fucking drink.”

“How many have you had today?” Jack asked.

“He drank a fucking explosive earlier,” Michael said.

Jack was not as surprised by this statement as the undead though he might be. “That bad, huh?”

“You mean he’s done that _before?_ ”

“Who drank explosives?” Ray asked.

“What?” said Gavin.

“Here’s a novel idea: everybody shut up.” Geoff’s flame had, by this point, dulled to a purplish-black color, and his face was looking pretty haggard. He scratched the base of one of his horns while glaring around at the rest of the group. “Oh, yeah, and Michael, I still need to figure out how to punish you. Can’t have you fucking shit up.”

“Aw, come on, you demonic whore! The fuck did I do?!”

The demon scowled; a blue spark leaped from his dimmed ball of flame. “Fucking rude. Anyway, I don’t want you turning back into a fucking stiff. I’d think you’d feel the same.”

“You think I feel the same? _You think I feel the same?!_ ” Michael stood up and glared right back at Geoff. His hands curled into fists. “Being undead fucking _sucks!_ You don’t even _know_ how it feels to not be able to eat or drink anything! You don’t know how it feels to have everyone flinch when they touch you! You don’t know how it feels to fucking burst into flames anytime you step into the sunlight! I can only _just_ function as a fucking person. Only _just._ ” Michael shook his head. “At this point, I’d give _anything_ to go back to being a corpse.”

“Dude, don’t fucking say that,” Geoff chided. “You know I can’t let you.”

“Why not, huh? Oh, wait, don’t tell me: you _can’t tell me._ ” Michael’s voice became sneering and high pitched as he imitated Geoff. “You can’t tell me because it’ll break all sorts of stupid rules and you could get into _big_ trouble.”

“It _is_ true, though. I _could_ get into a lot of shit if I told you any of this stuff.”

“With _who?!_ Who the hell cares about this shit?”

“People who are a lot more powerful than I am, Michael. People who would make my life fucking miserable if I put one toe out of line.” He rubbed his temple slowly, his claws brushing his fringe. “Now, if you’ll hold still for a moment…” The hand that had been rubbing his fringe came down slowly, index finger, middle finger and thumb extended as if the demon was about to start snapping.

“What the fuck-” Before Michael could say anything else, Geoff quietly flicked his finger at him. A white spark jumped from his claw and onto Michael’s head. An itch started immediately from where the spark landed and spread all over his body. Then, in the blink of an eye, blackness fell over him, and he knew no more.

* * *

“Urgh…”

Michael slowly cracked one eye open. The bright lights overhead proved far too much for him, so he quickly squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed them furiously. God, his head _hurt;_ it felt like someone had taken a power drill to the back of his head and let loose.

“Take it easy,” someone said, “you’ve been out for a while.”

“Hey, Ryan,” Michael greeted wearily, “d’you know what the fuck happened to me?”

“The others said Geoff did something to you.”

“…Did he?” Michael tried to remember, but ended up drawing a blank. “Shit, my brain fucking _hurts._ ”

“Whatever it is must be internal,” said the scientist. “I checked every inch of your skull for fractures or bruises or whatever, but I didn’t find anything.” Michael heard the scientist rummaging around somewhere. There was a pause, and then he felt a finger push back his left eyelid to expose his eyeball. A white light flared into brilliant life; Michael flinched away from it, his head throbbing in protest. “You don’t seem to be concussed or anything…”

“Get that shit away from me!” Michael batted Ryan’s hand away and curled up into a ball. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Jeez, sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“What did Geoff do to me, anyway?” Michael tried to remember, but all he got was more headache. Jesus, it felt like he had a hangover, without the fun of getting drunk the night before. _‘The fuck did I do to deserve this?’_

“You tell me.” Ryan’s voice grew a little quieter; he was probably moving away from him. “You musta _really_ pissed him off, though. He doesn’t resort to magic unless he’s really fucking angry.”

“I have no idea what the fuck I did, man! I was just….just chilling and shit, and he goes and does this!”

“You think it might have something to do with Lindsay?”

Michael opened his eyes and stared blankly at Ryan. “Who the hell is Lindsay?”


	17. Driving Me Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael’s forgotten everything…again. Ryan takes pity on him, and does something nice for a change.

“What is your fucking deal?!”

After Ryan had asked him that question – which Michael couldn’t remember for some reason – the scientist had taken him over to one of his nine tables and strapped him into a device that looked like a wok with six dozen wires feeding out of it, like some cyberpunk Chia pet. The wok went on Michael’s head; the metal lip extended all the way to his nose, meaning he couldn’t see shit. Something was pressing against his temples, and there were burbles and bleeps sounding from all directions, but Michael had no idea what Ryan was doing, or indeed what the purpose of this device was.

“Calm down,” the scientist replied. “I’m just scanning your brain to see what the problem is.”

“I keep telling you, I’m _fine,_ ” Michael complained.

“And _I_ keep telling _you_ you’re obviously _not_ fine,” Ryan retorted. “Geoff’s done something to you, and I’m trying to figure out what it is.”

“Won’t you get in trouble again?”

“Um…maybe?”

“Then maybe you should butt out before Geoff fries your ass.” Michael fumbled with the strap under his chin, and the machine let out an angry squawk of protest.

“Hey, stop it! This shit’s delicate, all right?” Michael felt Ryan grip his hand and pull it gently off the strap. “It took me a _month_ to get it calibrated, so leave it alone!”

“It’s fucking _pointless,_ dude! I’m _dead!_ You’re not gonna get anything from scanning my brainwaves or whatever!”

“I’m trying to _help_ you!”

“I don’t _want_ your help, you weirdo, because _there’s nothing wrong with me!_ ” Michael managed to undo the strap before Ryan could interfere again, and was even able to remove the wok without damaging it. He put the wok down on a nearby table and got up. “Anyway, like I said, I’m fucking _dead._ What’s the point of checking if I’m okay? I’m a billion fucking miles from being okay.”

Ryan sighed and turned the wok off. “I just wanted to see if whatever Geoff did was obvious, but I, uh, don’t think it was anything physical, and magic is not my area of, um, _expertise,_ per se.”

Michael snorted. “Says the guy who put demon seals around his house.”

“That’s different.”

“How is it different? Isn’t _that_ magic?”

“Sure, but it’s not _my_ magic. Um, it’s, uh, like using a recipe from a cookbook. Just because you can make the fucking pasta or whatever doesn’t mean it’s _your_ pasta. You, uh, get what I’m saying?”

“Um…maybe?”

The scientist let out a frustrated huff. “What don’t you understand? I’m a fucking _scientist,_ not a magician! The magic doesn’t _come_ from me; it comes from the fucking symbols and shit!”

“Man, don’t talk about stuff coming from you.” Michael wrinkled his nose and turned away. “Fucking gross.”

“Hey, _you’re_ the one who went there, not me.”

“Whatever.” The undead walked back toward the stairs, but paused as a thought struck him. Turning back toward Ryan, he asked, “…so, _was_ there anything wrong with my brain?”

“If you had been _listening,_ ” the scientist said, “you would know that I said you’re _physically_ fine. As for your brainwaves and shit, well, like you said, you’re dead, so it’s impossible for me to know if _that’s_ the problem. Doesn’t show up for you.”

“I knew that,” Michael said, a little too quickly. “I mean, I’m _fine,_ right?”

“As fine as a walking corpse could be.”

“Thanks for reminding me, asshole.”

“Wha- _you’re_ the one who brought it up!”

“Only because you were fucking messing around with that wok thing!”

“It’s not a wok! Okay, that’s not _entirely_ true, it was _once_ a wok-”

“Fucking knew it.”

“-but I _repurposed_ it around the time I acquired it.”

“Repurposed it for what?”

“For scanning brains.”

“And how does that work?”

“Do you really want me to explain it to you?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Michael leaned back against a nearby table and folded his arms. “Why do you think something’s wrong with me, anyway?”

“Do you _honestly_ not remember?”

He blinked. “Remember what?”

“Cause I’ve only asked you, uh, _seven_ times over the past twenty minutes.”

“Asked me what?”

“If you remember Lindsay.”

“Who’s that?”

“ _Seriously?!_ ”

“What?! What’s the big fucking deal?”

“The big fucking deal, Michael, is that not even five hours ago you were fucking _pissed_ because Geoff didn’t tell you about her, and now you don’t remember any of it!” Ryan threw up his hands. “Why the fuck am I even bothering? You didn’t remember then, you won’t remember now, and you’ll tell me to fuck off anyway.”

The undead thought about this for a minute; he _did_ remember being angry, but he couldn’t remember why that was. Funnily enough, this also served to make him angry. _‘Why the fuck can’t I remember why I was angry? What **did** Geoff do to me? Fuck, now I’m just more fucking confused than ever. Great.’_

He sighed deeply and looked back over at Ryan. The scientist was fussing over his wok/brain-scanner; maybe he was checking it to make sure Michael hadn’t messed it up, or something. “Hey, Ryan?”

The scientist glanced up. “Yo.”

“…Do you have a car?”

Ryan frowned and stood upright. “Uh…why…do you want to know?”

“Cause I wanna fucking go outside, but I don’t feel like asking Geoff to take me. Besides, he’s all drunk and pissed off.”

“Why do you want to go outside?”

“Why the fuck do you think I want to go outside?! I’m _tired_ of being trapped in this shithole! I might as well be back in my fucking coffin for all the shit I’m doing here! I _know_ I’m a walking corpse that’ll catch on fire if I so much as step into the sunlight, but goddammit I _hate_ being cooped up like some fucking…some fucking…I don’t know, some fucking _house pet!_ ” Michael’s hands curled into fists; had there been anything upright nearby, he would have punched it. “Even if it’s at night, even if I have to wear a fucking talisman, I _want_ to go out, just to have _some_ sort of normalcy in my life.”

Ryan stared at the ground for a moment and bit his lip. Then he let out a deep breath and stepped forward. “I… _suppose…_ if you _really_ want to do this…I can take you.”

He blinked in surprise. “….Really? Sweet.”

The scientist shrugged. “I can be nice sometimes.”

“I’ll get my fucking talisman, then, and we can go!” Michael started for the stairs, but was again held back by an afterthought. “Um, can Ray come with us?”

“Why?”

“He _really_ wants to go home.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

“How the hell did you _forget?!_ He’s only been asking you, like, every second since he’s been here!”

“In my defense, the other assholes currently living here have nowhere else to go,” said Ryan. “I, uh, guess I just lumped him in with the rest of you.”

“Believe me, if I _could_ leave, I’d be out the door in a fucking _instant,_ ” said Michael. “I fucking _hate_ this place.”

“Aw.” The scientist now had a look on his face reminiscent of a kicked puppy. “What’s wrong with it?”

“A better question would be what _isn’t_ wrong with it?” Michael corrected. “It smells like something died in it, the floor’s all uneven, there are boxes all over the fucking second floor, none of the doors lock, the water doesn’t work, the power goes out every time you start working in your lab, the bathtub leaks, there isn’t enough room for five fucking adult men, you keep fucking body parts and shit in your fridge, the yard’s booby trapped and overgrown, and there’s _nothing_ to do here. It’s a fucking _hellhole,_ Ryan.”

Ryan shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s a _safe_ hellhole.”

“Yeah, if you’re fucking _insane._ ” Michael glanced around the gleaming lab and scoffed. “Or, maybe since you spend all your waking hours in this fucking Frankenstein lab, you have no fucking clue what it’s like for the rest of us.”

“It’s possible.”

Michael blinked once. “…The fact that you didn’t even try to argue that is fucking pathetic.”

“I, uh…yeah, I guess.” Ryan walked past Michael and headed for the stairs. “So, are we going, or what?”

“Fuck yeah! Wait up!” He darted around the scientist and took the stairs two at a time. “I can’t _wait_ to get out of here!”

The undead punched the red button on the wall and shoved the metal door out of his way. The others were gathered in the living room, as always, but he ignored them in favor of running up the stairs to the guestroom. He knelt down beside the cracked nightstand and pulled open the bottom drawer. Its only contents were the goat-skull pendant and a couple of dust bunnies. Michael grinned at the pendant, and then grabbed it, dusted it off, pulled it over his head and tucked it under his shirt.

After running back downstairs, Michael looked around and saw Ray lounging on the couch. “Hey, Ray,” he greeted.

Ray looked at him. “S’up?”

“You ready to blow this joint?”

He blinked a couple of times, and then his face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas Day. “…you serious?”

“Fuck yeah I’m serious! Ryan’s gonna take you home!”

“Fucking _finally!_ I thought I’d never _leave_ this fucking place!”

Michael’s joyful feeling deflated somewhat; though he was happy for Ray, he himself felt a bit disappointed at the fact that, when all was said and done, he would have to come back here again. Still, he didn’t want to make Ray feel bad, so he forced a grin and said, “Yeah, this place _is_ a shithole. Hopefully this’s the last you’ll see of it.”

The werewolf hopped off the couch and clapped his hands. “Let’s do this shit.”

“What’re doing?” They blinked and looked down. Gavin was staring up at them, looking about as confused as he usually was. “Where’s Ray going?”

“He’s going home, Gavin.”

The sewn-together undead looked like he’d just had a rug pulled out from under his feet. He blinked several times and his mouth hung agape. After processing this information, he looked at Ray and said, “Why, Ray?”

“Uh, maybe because I fucking _hate_ it here? I mean, you guys _did_ kidnap me…”

“That part wasn’t my fault,” Michael said quickly. “That was all Geoff and Ryan.”

“I know, but that doesn’t change the fact that this place blows.”

“Now _that_ we agree on.”

Gavin looked at Michael with sad, mismatched puppy dog eyes and started to pout. “Michael, why can’t I come with you?”

The undead blinked. “What?”

“You and Ray are going out without me.”

“Who said we were?”

“You did!”

“I didn’t say shit! I was _just_ about to ask if you wanted to come, you asshole! You don’t have to get all whiny on me!”

“I wasn’t whining!”

“‘Ooh Micool you goin’ out wifout me!’” Michael mocked. “That sounded pretty fucking whiny, dude. Anyway, fucking relax, Gav. You can come with us.”

“Really?”

“Why the fuck are you so surprised?”

“I mean, I thought you were havin’ a laugh for a moment there.”

“No, _this_ is having a laugh.” Michael forced out a laugh and made both Ray and Gavin jump. “I wasn’t jerking you around, buddy. Now go get your fucking hoodie and shit so we can leave.”

Gavin nodded, leaped to his feet and darted up the stairs.

“The fuck is he going?” Ray asked.

“Geoff didn’t have two working magic pendants, so Gav has to hide the old-fashioned way.” Michael shrugged. “His loss.”

“Can’t Geoff just get another one?”

“Maybe, but I _really_ don’t feel like asking him right now.” As he spoke, Michael glanced over to the table. Geoff was currently fast asleep at the far end of it; his head rested on his tattooed arms and his flame had dimmed all the way to purplish-black. Several empty bottles of beer surrounded his sleeping form. “Just let him sleep.”

“Sounds good. Dude’s kinda scary when he gets angry.”

Gavin returned in a cacophony of pounding footsteps. His burnt orange hoodie and baseball cap were in place and concealed his undead nature beautifully, though Michael noticed both had numerous tears and faded grass stains. “Is it time to go, Michael?”

“Not yet, asshole. We have to wait for Ryan.” Michael glanced around. “Where the fuck is he?”

“I’m right here.” All three lads jumped and turned around. Ryan had just walked out of the kitchen. He had exchanged his lab coat for a scuffed brown leather jacket and was twirling a battered key fob on his right index finger. “You ready to go?”

“Maybe,” said Michael. “Is Jack gonna come?”

Ryan frowned. “Uh, I…don’t think my car will fit…all of you.”

“Jack is _not_ going to come,” said a voice from the stairs. The lads jumped again and turned to see the swamp monster standing on the stairs. His hair and fins were gleaming with water droplets. “I’m gonna stay here and look after Geoff, if you don’t mind.”

“Go right ahead,” said Ryan. “If you can make him _less_ angry, that would be great.”

“I’ll do my best.” Jack finished climbing down the stairs, crossed over to the table and stopped beside Geoff. “Jesus, he must be _pissed._ ”

“No shit.” Ryan shook his head and looked at the lads. “ _Now_ are you ready to go?”

“Fuck yeah!” the lads chorused.

“Okay, okay! We’re going, we’re going!”

Ryan held up his hands defensively and walked down the foyer. The lads trailed excitedly behind him, practically bouncing at the thought of getting out for some fresh air. The front door was currently an old bedsheet, as Ryan hadn’t even had the time to clear away the melted one yet. It fluttered lazily in the breeze as the group passed over the threshold, and Michael was damn certain Ryan glared at it as they passed.

They descended the front steps, and Ryan headed into the waist-high grass and around the house. “It’s around the back,” he told them.

“Then why didn’t we go out the back door?” Michael complained.

“This house doesn’t have a back door.”

“Course it doesn’t,” Ray muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

There wasn’t any sort of garage, either. All Ryan’s car had to protect it from the elements was a faded blue tarp, secured at the corners by bungee cords. It wasn’t even that great a car; the lads had been expecting some souped up _Ghostbusters_ type car, but it was just a battered Toyota Camry.

“This is it?” Michael asked.

“Yeah.” Ryan shuffled awkwardly. “Something wrong?”

“It sucks.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It looks like shit, Ryan.” Michael walked around the car once. There were several dings on both bumpers, a scratch in the hood, the left side mirror was missing, the left passenger window in the back had a massive crack in it, and the foam in the seats was pushing through the cracks in the leather. “Please tell me you bought this used…or from a junkyard.”

“I _did_ buy it used, but not from a junkyard, no.” Ryan walked over and unlocked the car. It flashed its lights obediently, and Michael noticed the left tail light was out. “It gets the job done, which is all that matters.”

“Man, this keeps on getting better and better,” said Ray.

“At least you’re going home, man.”

“True.”

All three lads squeezed into the back seat; Michael sat on the left, behind Ryan, Ray sat in the middle, and Gavin took the right. They grumbled and jostled each other while fumbling for their seatbelts. Michael got an elbow to the stomach several times, Ray’s glasses ended up falling into the floorboard, and Gavin let out a birdlike squawk of complaint. Eventually, everybody was buckled in and waiting for Ryan to start the car.

“Budge up, Ray,” Gavin complained. “You’re pressing me into the damn window.”

“ _You_ budge up,” Ray retorted, “because I can’t fucking move an inch.”

“Both of you shut up and sit still,” said Michael. “This car’ll fucking fall apart if we move too much. Hell, if someone _farts_ it’ll probably dissolve.”

“C’mon, it’s not _that_ bad.” Ryan had, by this point, lowered himself into the driver’s seat and buckled himself in. He adjusted the rearview mirror and gave the lads a faintly disapproving look. “You know, there _is_ an open seat up here. You don’t _have_ to be all squished together.”

“Face it, Ryan, nobody wants to sit next to you,” Michael teased.

“Oh…okay.” Ryan put the key into the ignition and twisted it. The car sputtered for a few seconds before turning on. The radio crackled to life; it sounded like the station was set to Shitty Pop Music FM. He switched on the headlights – _‘Holy shit, who fucking has to switch on headlights anymore? It’s 2014!’_ thought Michael – and put the car in drive.

“Quick question,” said Ray.

“Yo.”

“How’re we getting out? I’m _fairly_ certain there’s a fucking fence around this place.”

“Don’t worry, I got it.” Ryan hit a button on his key fob, and a section of fence lit up. Squealing mightily, it rolled to the side, leaving a car-sized opening in the chain-link barrier. “This’ll be a little bumpy.”

“I’d be surprised if it _wasn’t_ bumpy,” said Michael.

“Will you stop shitting on my car all ready? It’ll be _fine._ ”

The car rolled forward slowly; it squeaked a little bit, but otherwise seemed perfectly normal. Ryan guided it through the gate and down a hill. Apparently by a little bit bumpy Ryan meant he would be driving on a road made completely out of rocks and dirt, as the lads were uncomfortably jostled and bumped and tossed around in the backseat.

Eventually, they made it to an actual dirt road, and then to a highway. “Okay, Ray,” said Ryan, “where to?”

“Hold on…” Ray wiggled in his seat and managed to get loose enough to lean forward.

“Oi, Ray! Get your effing elbow out of my eye!”

“Get off my dick, asshole!”

“I’m trying to talk to Ryan, fucking give me a second!”

“You know…this would have been _much_ easier if you had just sat in the passenger seat,” Ryan pointed out.

“…Fuck it.” Ray reached back and unbuckled his seat belt. “I’m coming in. Hope your asshole’s ready for this.”

“Ray, not while the car’s moving!”

“OW! Watch the dick!”

“RAY!”

“OOH! MY LEG!”

Ray ignored the complaints and pushed himself into the passenger seat. “All right, you’re gonna want to head to a shitty little apartment complex in northish Austin,” he told Ryan. “It’s easy to miss, but once you’re in the area I can point you in the right direction.” He buckled himself into the passenger seat and leaned back.

“Jesus Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack,” said Michael. “I’m _dead_ and you almost gave me a heart attack. Holy shit.”

“So what? Nobody’s hurt.”

“North Austin…fuck, we’re going the wrong way. Hold on…” Ryan hit the brake and spun the wheel at the same time. The car juddered horribly while the tires screamed; for a moment, Michael thought they were going to fly off the road or spin out or something. Gavin went pale and threw his arms over his face, Michael braced himself against the frame of the car, and Ray grabbed his seat with both hands. Luckily, the car steadied itself out and they started heading in the opposite direction.

“ _Now_ who’s the crazy one?” Ray asked, a little shakily.

“Are you guys _trying_ to kill me?” Michael let out a breath and leaned back against the seat. “Fuck.” He looked over at the Brit; he was still curled up in a ball, and had started shaking. “Hey, you all right, Gav?”

“…I don’t like it,” he whimpered. “The screaming and the spinning….it’s bad, really bad.”

 _‘…Fuck, that’s right, he **died** in a car crash. Probably not the most pleasant memories in the world.’_ Michael reached over and patted Gavin’s back. “Sorry you had to go through that, man. Anything I can do?”

“Don’t do it again, Ryan!” Gavin cried.

“Sorry,” said Ryan. Michael was pleased to note that the scientist at least _sounded_ contrite.

There were no more incidents during the drive, which ended up getting rather boring. Gavin eventually calmed down and spent the ride looking out the window at the passing countryside. Michael talked to Ray and Ryan, but mostly to Ray. For about fifteen minutes or so they shot the shit, but the undead tired of small-talk fairly quickly, and decided to go for something a little closer to home.

“Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“…What was I like? When I was alive, I mean.”

“Um…not much different than you are now, actually.” Ray shrugged. “I mean, you knew everything about yourself, but that’s about it.”

“That’s pretty fucking important, Ray.”

“I know, but-”

“Do you know any of _that_ stuff? About what I forgot, I mean.”

“Uh…” The werewolf leaned back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling. “…you were born in New Jersey, I think…”

“Okay.”

“Ended up getting a job as an…electrician.”

“Thought so.”

“Oh, so that _was_ true,” said Ryan. “I thought you were lying.”

“I wasn’t lying!” said Michael. “I just…didn’t know I was telling the truth.”

“I wonder if there’s a name for that.”

Michael blinked. “For what?”

“If your lie unintentionally ends up being the truth.”

“Yeah, it’s called a shitty lie,” said Ray. “Now shut up, I’m trying to think.”

“Anything else?”

“You had a show on YouTube called _Rage Quit_.”

“Knew that.”

“We met once in New York.”

“Knew that, too.”

“Um…shit…you married Lindsay, like, five or six months ago…”

“Who’s that?”

Ray’s entire body froze, and he turned to look at Michael with incredulous eyes. “Are you shitting me right now?”

“What?! What’d I say?”

“You _seriously_ don’t remember-”

“No he does not,” said Ryan.

“What doesn’t he remember?” asked Gavin.

“None of your fucking business, that’s what,” Michael snapped.

“Not only does he _not_ remember,” said Ryan, “but he’ll forget again in about…five seconds?”

“I will _not!_ I’ll totally remember…that thing you said…fuck.”

Ray looked from Ryan to Michael and back again. “Is _this_ what Geoff did to him?”

“Yup. Said his spell was broken. Guess he fixed it.”

Michael let out a huff and looked out the window. “Fuck off, pricks.”

“We’re just trying to-”

“I don’t _care_ what you’re trying to do! Just _stop_ already!”

Michael spent the majority of the trip dutifully ignoring the other three occupants of the car in favor of staring out the window. Truth be told, he _was_ bothered by the fact that Geoff was making him forget things. It pissed him off that Geoff would take away one of the only things he had going for him in this sham of a life. He _wanted_ to remember things, goddammit!

So why couldn’t he?

* * *

 

An hour passed, and slowly the landscape around them started changing. One by one, houses started sprouting up in the middle of the fields and pastures, growing more and more numerous as they drove on. Gas stations and tiny strip malls started popping up too, and in a matter of moments, the fields and forests were gone, replaced by the suburbs and strip malls of North Austin.

“Shouldn’t be too long now,” said Ray. “You’re gonna want to turn left at this light.”

“Can do,” said Ryan.

“And take another left after that one.”

“Okay.”

“And then a right after that.”

“Uh, maybe tell me this _after_ I’ve taken the first turn.”

“Bloody hell, what are you doing?” Gavin asked. “Why’re you both so _stupid?”_

“What’d you call me?”

“Ryan, you have a phone, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Bloody use your GPS, then!”

“I…guess we could have done that.”

“We’re-we’ve already gone too far,” Ray declared. “I’ll just tell it as it comes.”

“Dumb shit,” Gavin muttered under his breath.

“Gavin!” Michael tutted. “So _rude_ now!”

“Sod off, Michael.”

“Gavin…” Michael pouted and gave his fellow undead the sappiest look possible. Gavin huffed and looked out the window.

Ryan dutifully followed Ray’s directions, and in about ten minutes they’d pulled up to a fairly decent apartment complex. “Jesus Christ,” sighed Ray, “I never thought I would be so fucking glad to see this place, but, well…”

“Considering where you’ve _been_ living these past few days, I’m not surprised,” said Michael.

“All I’m getting from this is that you guys _really_ don’t like my house,” said Ryan.

“What? No! Your place is _awesome!_ Who _wouldn’t_ want to live there?” Michael gave Ryan a wide-eyed look of surprise; it was so obviously fake even Gavin knew he was being sarcastic.

“…Okay, Ray, is there, like, uh, guest parking around here somewhere?”

“Just park wherever the hell you want. Nobody’s gonna give a shit.”

Ryan ended up parallel parking in front of the second building’s main stairwell. As soon as the car was switched off, the lads popped off their seatbelts and jumped out into the parking lot. It was early evening; late enough for the sun to be almost completely down, but still early enough to have a little bit of sunlight illuminating their surroundings. Michael stretched languidly and took a deep breath; the parking lot smelled of gasoline and cigarette smoke, but it was still better than the dust and decay of Ryan’s dilapidated house of horrors. _‘Fuck, it’s good to be outside.’_

In the meantime, Ray had darted up the stairs and was making a beeline for the last door on the second floor of the second building. Michael finished stretching and made to follow him. Gavin followed him closely, and Ryan trailed in the back.

“This is it,” said Ray. He approached the door and reached into his pocket. “Home sweet fucking home.” He pulled out a set of keys and opened the door. “Fuck, it feels like it’s been _forever_.” He entered the house, but paused when he realized everybody else was lingering awkwardly on the doorstep. “So, uh, you guys gonna come in, or what?”

“You gonna invite us?” Michael asked.

Ray raised an eyebrow. “What, are you guys vampires now?”

“We _may_ be monsters,” said Michael, “but I’d like to think we’re not assholes.”

“Think again,” Ray muttered.

“Ha ha. Fucking invite us in.”

“Fine. You guys can come in.”

Just like that, the other three entered and started examining Ray’s apartment. It was surprisingly well-kept and tidy for such a sub-par location, and, having been surrounded by chaos for way too fucking long, Michael found he appreciated it greatly. The door led right into Ray’s living room, which was furnished with one small armchair and a matching couch; upon closer examination, Michael saw that both were covered in long stripes of clumsy stitches. _‘Don’t have to be a scientist to figure out why those are there,’_ he thought. _‘Being a werewolf must suck balls.’_

He walked over to a black bookshelf and glanced over its contents while Gavin and Ryan scoped out Ray’s entertainment system. Two shelves were stuffed completely full of Xbox games. Most of the titles were familiar to him, so he quickly grew bored and moved on to the other shelves. A pink 3DS sat on the shelf below the games; it was bordered by a neat stack of 3DS games on one side, and a Waluigi plush on the other. Michael snorted and picked the plush up. “Wow, Ray, classy.”

“What?” The werewolf turned, and Michael waggled the plush at him. Ray’s eyes widened. “Hey, put him down!”

“I’m not hurting it, Ray. I’m just sort of…shocked.” Ray ran over and snatched for the plush, but Michael held it just out of reach. “What the fuck? Fine, here’s your dumb doll.” He lobbed the Waluigi plush over Ray’s head and watched it soar toward the kitchen table.

Ray dived for the plush and managed to catch it before it hit the ground. “…it’s not dumb,” he mumbled, “ _you’re_ dumb.” He hugged the plushie doll closely and checked to make sure it was okay. “Anyway, who’re _you_ to talk? You have, like, every stuffed animal _ever_. Or, uh, _had,_ I guess.”

“Did I?” Michael tried to remember. “Huh. Learning more every day.” He shrugged and went back to examining the bookshelf. The shelf beneath the 3DS was covered in pictures, most of which seemed to be of Ray’s friends. There was one that looked like it was from a wedding, and Michael had to laugh at the idea of Ray at a wedding, his own or otherwise. He shook his head and reached for the picture so he could get a closer look.

The laughter immediately died the moment Michael got a good look at the picture. That was…that was _him_ sitting next to Ray, looking like the world had just been delivered to him on a silver platter, and very much not dead. They both had the biggest grins on their faces; Ray was giving the thumbs-up to the camera, and Michael was toasting the camera with a half-empty champagne glass. He was wearing glasses in the picture, though they looked slightly askew.

His attention was then drawn to the bride…to _his_ bride. She was resplendent in pearlescent white, though the dignity of her bridal attire was lessened slightly by the fact that she was sticking her tongue out and was making the death metal horns sign with her right hand. Her left hand was in Michael’s, and he could see they were clasping them tightly. Both of them were wearing rings. His gaze went to his real-life hands; there was no sign of a ring anywhere.

 _‘Is this…is this what I’ve been forgetting? That I had a wife?’_ Michael screwed up his face and concentrated on remembering, but he could already feel the picture slipping away in his mind. _‘No…fuck, no!’_ He looked back down at the picture, and the sensation stopped, but holy hell, it was making him feel fucking _awful._ A slight throbbing started up in his brain, and his eyes started to burn. _‘Wait a minute…’_ Michael looked at the wall. The throbbing stopped. He looked back at the picture. The throbbing started up again. _‘The fuck? I’m just staring at a goddamn picture! What the hell is happening to me?!’_

“Ray,” he whispered, and was shocked at how rough his voice sounded. “ _Ray!_ Get your ass over here!” He kept his gaze on the picture; even though the throbbing got worse, even though his eyes were watering, he kept his eyes on his bride.

A small cacophony of footsteps sounded to the left of him, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Michael, what the hell’s going on?”

He didn’t look up; tears were leaking from his eyes, and he now felt like he was going to throw up, but he didn’t look away from his bride. “When…when was this taken?” he husked.

“When was what…. _oh._ ”

“Michael, boi, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?” Another hand gently prodded at his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Michael…put the picture down.” A third hand was placed on his back, and then fingers were encroaching upon the picture, blocking the happy sight from view.

“What?! _No!_ ” He jerked away from them and tightened his grasp on the blocky frame. “You _can’t_ take it away from me! I’ll forget again!”

“Michael, until we figure out how to break the spell Geoff put on you, looking at it isn’t going to do you any good. Now, put it down before something bad happens.”

Ryan’s calm and reassuring voice did nothing to assuage Michael’s panic. “I don’t _want_ to,” he whined. “I’m sick and fucking tired of _forgetting_ everything. I don’t _want_ to fucking forget! My memory is all I fucking have now!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ray breathed.

“Fuck off, Ray.”

“No, uh…Michael?”

“What?”

“God, Michael,” Gavin gasped. “Your eyes…you’re _bleeding._ ”

“Huh?” Michael reached up and swiped at his face. His hand came away stained black with blood. “The fuck?”

While he was distracted with his bloody hand, Ryan walked forward and managed to take the picture away. The physical relief was instantaneous, but Michael panicked as soon as his wedding picture vanished. “Ryan, you motherfucker! Give it back! _Give it back!_ ”

The scientist held it out of reach and stepped back. “Not gonna do it, Michael.”

“Why the fuck not? What the fuck do I have to lose?!” He lunged, either for the picture or for Ryan’s throat, but Ryan easily sidestepped him and he ended up crashing to the floor. “You cocksucking bastard!”

“The fuck’s going on?” Ray asked.

“Yeah, Ryan, tell us what’s going on!” Gavin chimed in.

“It’s Geoff’s curse-thingy,” said Ryan. “He _really_ doesn’t want Michael to remember Lindsay.”

 _‘Lindsay…_ ’ Michael tried to remember the name, but it was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. The name, the picture, the happiness…all of it was slipping away. He pushed himself to his feet and swiped irritably at his face. Both hands were now covered in tarry blood, but he didn’t care.

“I’m fucking _serious,_ Ryan,” he growled. “ _Give it back!_ ” He lunged again, bloody hands curling into fists, only to miss again and fall back to the floor. “Stand still and fight like a man, you fucking shiteater!” He jumped back to his feet and whirled around. Ryan looked strangely calm. He clutched the picture in one hand while the other was tucked into his jacket pocket. The pity in his blue eyes was enough for Michael to see red, and he squared his shoulders, ready for another attack.

“Michael, calm down!” Two sets of arms grabbed him by the shoulders and held him fast. He tried to jerk his arms free and glanced about wildly to see what had caught him. Gavin held his right arm and Ray had his left. The werewolf glared at him; his upper lip curled in a slight growl. “I have to deal with enough busted shit as it is. Don’t need you adding to it.”

Michael struggled to free himself, but he couldn’t bear to hurt his fellow lads. His anger was starting to dissipate, replaced by desperation. He was forgetting, goddammit! It was all going back into the void, and soon he would be a clueless fuck yet again. “Let me go!” he yelled. “Fucking let me go, you fucking mongs! I am _not_ gonna forget her again!”

“Man, I have no fucking idea what’s going on, but, I mean, bleeding from your eyes doesn’t seem fucking worth it,” said Ray. “Maybe…for once…we should listen to Ryan.”

“Thank you, Ray,” said Ryan.

“No problem.”

“Are you seriously asking me to forget her?!” Michael twisted wildly and stomped on Gavin’s foot. He heard a squeal, but the sewn-together undead managed to keep him contained. _‘Dammit. Must have gotten his bad foot. Fuck.’_ He shoved back against Ray, who staggered, but stayed upright. _‘Fuck! I don’t want to hurt them…but it’s all going to hell. I can’t…dammit…’_

“Only until we can figure out if Geoff’s spell can be broken,” said Ryan.

“I mean, it _is_ Geoff,” Ray said. “Remember the fucking tongue-tying curse or whatever the fuck it was? Can’t be _that_ hard.”

The scientist nodded. “Exactly. There _might_ be a way for us to deal with it, but until we have more information, you’re just gonna haveta forget.”

Michael blinked for a few seconds and looked around. “…Forget what?”

“Well…there you go.” Ryan set the picture on the kitchen table, making sure it was face down. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll tell you later.”

“Dammit, you _know_ I hate it when you hold stuff out on me. I know you like your weird mad science shtick, but it can get _really_ annoying.” The undead glared pointedly at Ray and Gavin. “You assholes gonna let me go, or what?”

“Sorry,” they chorused, and released his arms.

Michael let out a groan of relief and rolled his shoulders. “Fuck, I have no idea why you guys had to _grip_ so fucking hard…Jesus Christ, I mean, _come on._ ” He stretched and turned back to Ray. “So…I suppose you want to be alone for a while, huh, Ray?” he asked.

“I mean…” The werewolf shrugged. “You guys can stay if you want.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” said Gavin.

“Of course you wouldn’t, asshole. I’m asking if Ray minds.”

“I already said I didn’t.”

“You sure? You’ve spent an awful lot of time with us already.” Michael put his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. “…To be honest, I wouldn’t mind staying for a bit either, if only to talk to you a bit more, but I understand if you want us out of your f-hair. Out of your _hair._ ”

“…You were going to say fur, weren’t you.”

“…But I didn’t.”

Ray sighed. “What were you guys planning to do, anyway?”

“Uh…be out and about, I guess. Maybe Ryan has some errands to run…?” Michael glanced at the scientist for help.

Ryan shrugged. “I _do_ need some…materials.”

“Okay, so we’ll go get Ryan’s _materials,_ then. That’s _sure_ to be _loads_ of fun.”

Ray let out a snort at Michael’s sarcasm. “Man, almost makes me wish I was going with you.”

“No, it doesn’t. Don’t lie, Ray.”

“Yeah…well…you got me.” The werewolf turned toward the other two men. “Guess I’ll see you guys around.”

Gavin looked positively distraught. “Will we?”

“Sure. I, uh, sort of don’t know how to get to your house or anything, but, uh…sure. Or we could just text or something.”

“Neither of us have phones,” said Michael.

“…Shit. Hold on.” Ray ran into the hallway; they heard the sounds of frantic rummaging and several crashes. He returned and shoved something into Michael’s hands. “Here. Consider this, I don’t know, payment or something.”

Michael examined the object Ray had given him. It was an old black candy-bar style cell phone with a sliding keyboard and a cracked screen. “Um…thanks?”

“It still works, if that’s what you’re wondering. Don’t bother asking about the charger. Fucking lost that thing ages ago.” Ray stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. “Maybe Ryan can help you set up an account or something.”

“Even if he does, how the hell will I get your number?”

“Um…shit. Maybe…well, you have Xbox Live, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Find me on there, and I’ll message it to you.”

“…Still doesn’t help because I don’t fucking know your gamertag.”

Ray’s face fell slightly. “…Right. Look for ‘BrownMan.’ That’s me.”

Michael nodded. “Got it.” He tucked the phone into his pocket, paused for a second, and then held out his hand. “Still friends?”

Ray stared at his hand for a second. “…It’s fucking weird to see you _alive_ after…after all that shit, but…yeah. Still friends.” He grabbed Michael’s hand, and Michael tugged him forward and hugged him. The werewolf stiffened, but eventually, he returned the hug.

“I’ll message you, okay? I know I’ve been forgetting shit lately, but I won’t forget.”

“If you don’t, I’ll message you first. Gamertag’s ‘BM Vagabond,’ right?”

“Yup,” said Ryan.

“Then I’ll message you if you forget.”

“…Thanks, Ray.”

“No problem.” Ray gently pushed Michael away and walked toward Gavin. “See you around, Gav.”

“See you ‘round, Ray.” Gavin shook his hand warmly, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

Ray nodded and stepped back. He glared suspiciously at Ryan and held his hands behind his back. “I feel like, if I touch you, you’re going to stick me with something.”

“Wha-I don’t even _have_ anything on me!” Ryan reached into his jacket pockets and pulled the insides out. “See? Empty.”

“That’s surprising,” Michael muttered.

“Anyway, I’d _ask_ you first. Though I wouldn’t _mind_ getting some of your blood. I’ve always wanted to see what causes lychanth- _lycanthropy_.” Michael couldn’t help but snicker at the scientist’s little flub.

“…Just what I wanted to hear.” Despite the less than encouraging words, Ray held out his hand, and Ryan shook it. “I…guess you’re okay, man. Fucking creepy as hell, though.”

“Um…thank you…I think?” Ryan stepped back and headed for the door. “So…we going, or what?”

“Yeah, hold your bean.” Gavin hopped forward, but paused beside Ray. “Do I get a hug, Ray?”

“No.”

“All right.” The other undead stuffed his hands into his hoodie pocket and trudged to the door. “C’mon, Michael!”

Michael took a step, but paused and looked back at Ray. The werewolf’s attention was now on his entertainment system; he’d walked forward and grabbed one of his Xbox controllers and was perusing his game collection. His last tangible link to his actual life was standing right in front of him, and Michael was going to walk away from it. _‘It’s not forever,’_ he told himself. _‘I can always talk to him again. Maybe when Ryan figures out what’s wrong with me we can fucking shoot the shit to our hearts’ content.’_

“See you later, Ray,” he finally said.

Ray looked up. “See you around, Michael.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say I started writing this chapter before Ray announced he was leaving, but after a lot of thought, I decided that I didn't want to change the chapter. Rest assured that this is not the last we'll see of Ray in Too Spooky. ;)


	18. Bar-ley Holding It Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dropping Ray off at his apartment, Michael and Gavin decide errands are boring.

After dropping Ray off at his apartment, Ryan drove to what had to be the shittiest Wal-Mart in all of creation. Most of the merchandise looked battered and filthy, the employees were rude, and there was a faint yet distinct smell of rotting fish throughout the entire store.

“Tell me again,” said Michael, “why exactly are we at this shithole?”

“I need stuff,” said Ryan. “This place has stuff.”

They walked past the produce section, and Michael grimaced at the wilted lettuce on display. “Yeah, I bet that’s not all this place has.”

“Hey, at least it’s cheap.”

“Is it worth getting AIDS from all this infected shit?”

Ryan looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. “You _do_ know that’s not how you get AIDS, right?”

Michael just shook his head. “Man, you just _can’t_ take a joke, can you?”

“Not when it’s a fucking science joke. Do _I_ tell _you_ fucking…corpse jokes?”

“Fucking corpses?” The undead scrunched up his face in a look of mock horror. “That’s _disgusting!_ Though, honestly, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’d want to nail corpses.”

“I…don’t even want to…urg.” The scientist paled slightly. “Why did you have to put that image in my head? Ugh.”

“You know why. S’cause it is fucking funny to mess with your head, Ry-bread.”

The scientist blinked. “What did you call me?”

“Uh, Ry-bread. You know, cause the bread and…there’s the fucking bread aisle and…your name…fuck.” Michael just knew that if he was alive, he’d be blushing to high heaven right about now. “Seemed like a good idea at the time, I dunno.”

Ryan thought about this, and shrugged. “Okay. I’ll allow it.”

“Okay, good. For a minute I thought you were gonna fucking murder me or something.”

Gavin suddenly grabbed Michael’s arm and drew close to him. “For God’s sake, Michael, keep your bloody voice down!”

“Why?”

“There…Michael, there’s people here!”

“No shit there’s people here, Gavin! It’s a fucking store, and last time I checked, people come to stores to buy shit!”

Several of the surrounding customers turned and glared at Michael; one woman covered her mouth and gasped dramatically. Gavin winced and huddled against Michael. “We’re gonna get caught, Michael, and then they’ll do us in!”

Michael hated to admit it, but he was also unnerved by the other customers’ stares. Even though he knew they couldn’t see him for what he truly was, the undead couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. _‘What would the fucks think,’_ he mused, _‘of a dead guy with fucked up eyes?’_ Nervously he reached up and adjusted his goat-skull pendant.

Poor Gavin didn’t have a pendant, though. All it would take was one mistake, and his secret would instantly be exposed. He clung to Michael like a lost child and fiddled with the hem of his hoodie. Michael felt a little bit bad at the pitiful sight, so he wrapped his arm around the sewn-together undead’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “…I guess you have a point, Gav. Sorry.”

“You guys gonna stop dicking around anytime soon?” Ryan ignored the offended gasps of the onlookers and waved the other two forward. “We don’t exactly have a lot of time here.”

“Are you crazy? We have _loads_ of time! The place never fucking closes, Ryan!”

“Sure, but we still need to get going before too long. I _really_ don’t want you to spontaneously combust during our outing. Wouldn’t end well for any of us.”

“It’s, like, eight p.m., dude! Sunrise is _way_ far away!” Michael released Gavin, walked up to Ryan and smirked. “What, you starting to feel nervous or something? Not used to the outdoors? Fucking miss your nice, safe lab, Jekyll?”

Ryan put his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor. “…it’s a really nice lab,” he mumbled.

Michael shook his head. “Loser.”

They wandered around the store for two hours after that. Several times Michael and Gavin whined at Ryan to buy them something, and Ryan dutifully told them no every time. Eventually they got a basket for the collection of random shit the scientist accrued, and it only got weirder as time went by. Random cleaning chemicals, discount electronics and several pounds of raw meat found their way into the basket, which was starting to groan under the weight of all the stuff.

“What the fuck is all this _for,_ Ryan?” Michael prodded a bottle of Draino curiously. “I think your house is beyond help, man.”

“I know that,” said the scientist. “This isn’t for the house.”

“Then what _is_ it-” Understanding suddenly flared in Michael’s mind. “Wait a minute – this shit’s for your lab!”

“Yup.”

“Are you seriously that fucking cheap, Ry-Bread?”

Ryan turned back and looked at Michael over the tops of his glasses. “You’ve seen where I live, Michael.”

“…Point taken.” He looked back over the pile of miscellanea in the cart. “This is really fucking dangerous, isn’t it?”

“It’s definitely not the safest way to get my materials,” the scientist agreed. “Don’t have a lot of say in the matter, otherwise…” He shrugged.

They pulled into the checkout lane. The cashier was a youngish, androgynous punk type who looked like they were about to collapse. They sighed deeply and started scanning in the items Ryan placed on the belt. Gavin ducked behind Michael and pulled the bill of his cap down over his eyes. Michael let out an exasperated breath, but he allowed the sewn-together undead to use him as a shield. Several of the other shoppers glared suspiciously at them, but passed them by without comment.

“C’mon, Gavin, we’re almost out,” he hissed. “Hold it together, asshole.”

“Michael…I’m scared,” the Brit whined.

“Don’t be. Nothing’s gonna happen.”

The last of Ryan’s items were dutifully scanned, bagged and placed back into the cart by the exhausted cashier, and the scientist moved up to the card scanner. He pulled a scuffed leather wallet out of his pocket and started rifling through its contents.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Michael turned around and found himself face to face with a police officer. He stepped back and scowled. “What?”

“Can you tell your foreign friend to take the hat and hoodie off?” The cop gestured vaguely over in Gavin’s direction. “Several of the customers are feeling threatened.”

“So? It’s a free country.” Michael looked over at Gavin. The poor Brit was cringing behind Michael and wringing his hands. He glanced at Ryan. The scientist was shaking his head and gesticulating wildly, but Michael ignored him. “Does he look like a threat to you?”

“Just have him take it off.”

“Why?”

“The other customers-”

“Fuck those guys.”

The cop frowned.

“Or,” Ryan interjected, “Gavin can just go wait by the car.”

“Aw, what?”

Ryan glared at him, and the sewn-together undead shut his mouth. “Here, Gavin, take my keys and go wait in the car.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew his keys. Gavin reached out and cupped his hands, and Ryan dropped them into his palms. He tucked them into his hoodie pocket as soon as the keys touched his skin, but Michael saw the cop’s eyes narrow slightly.

“What’s with the stitches?”

Michael blinked in what he hoped was a dumb and disarming fashion. “What stitches?”

The cop reached for Gavin’s hood. Michael deflected his grasping fingers and stepped back. “There were stitches on one of his hands.”

“He was in an accident. It’s not exactly unusual.” Michael crossed his arms and glared defiantly at the stern cop. “You gonna let him go now? He’s not gonna hurt you or anybody else.”

The officer leaned back and put a hand on his Taser. Michael tensed, and he heard Gavin whimper softly.

“Um, sir, your, uh, transaction is complete,” the cashier squeaked. They grabbed the receipt and shoved it at Ryan. “Have a nice day!” Ryan took the receipt, and the cashier promptly ducked behind the counter and covered their head.

“All right, we’re done here.” Ryan went over to the bag carousel and picked up his stuff. “We’re, uh, leaving now,” he announced.

“Sir, I’m afraid these, uh, _boys_ will have to come with me.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He hoisted the bags up onto his left arm and stood beside Michael and Gavin. “Uh…why?”

The cop removed two pairs of handcuffs from his belt and stepped toward the two undead. “I’m charging you with obstructing an officer of the law. If you resist, I’ll charge you with that, too.”

Gavin let out a squawk. “Shut _up,_ Gavin!” Michael pushed him back and raised his fists. “You want him, you’ll have to get through me, you motherfucker.”

“That’s it – I’m arresting you for contempt and resisting arrest.” The cop took out his Taser and stepped closer.

“We just want to go home,” Ryan said quietly. “And they’re not hurting anyone.”

“I don’t like the way they’re acting, plus Curly here is threatening to assault an officer of the law.”

The scientist raised an eyebrow. “You would too, if an ‘officer of the law’ was threatening to arrest you and your friend for no reason.”

“No reas– that boy looks like a thug!” the cop spluttered. “People are scared!”

“People are stupid,” Ryan retorted. “Gavin’s not going to hurt anyone. Just let us go and we’ll be on our way.”

“ _They’re_ coming with me,” the cop snarled.

Ryan sighed deeply. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.” He surged forward and put his hand into his pocket a third time. He stepped right up to the cop, took his hand out, and jabbed something against the soft part of the cop’s neck. There was a soft hiss, a thunk, and the cop dropped like a ton of bricks. His eyes rolled back into his head and frothing saliva leaked out of the corners of his lips. Ryan put his hand back into his pocket and headed for the exit. “C’mon, guys.”

Michael and Gavin goggled at the decommissioned cop. “Holy _shit,_ ” Michael whispered. “The fuck did you _do?_ ”

“Michael, let’s go!” Gavin grabbed Michael’s arm and yanked him forward. “They’re gonna call the cops, Michael!”

Michael allowed his fellow undead to pull him away from the cop and toward the exit. He stared at the unconscious cop up until he exited the store. _‘Jesus fucking Christ…what the hell did Ryan **do** to him?’_

The two undead hurried through the parking lot, glancing around like the cops would suddenly burst out of thin air, _GTA_ style, and arrest them all. Ryan didn’t seem to have a care in the world. He strolled through the parking lot casually, found his car, popped the trunk and started loading his bags into it. The two undead stood behind him and started bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet, ready to run at the first sign of red and blue lights.

“C’mon, Ryan,” Gavin whined. “They’re gonna do us in!”

“We’re fine,” said Ryan. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, _fuck you,_ ‘don’t worry!’” Michael snapped. “You KO a fucking _cop_ in the middle of a store, _right_ in front of a fucking witness _and_ all the security cameras, and just waltz outta there like nothing’s the matter? I think worrying’s the _least_ we could be doing right now!”

“I already took care of the cameras, and without them, the witness isn’t a problem either.” Ryan pushed the trunk’s lid down and banged on it a couple of times to make sure it was properly closed. When he was finished, he took out his keys and unlocked the car. “Still, it’s probably best that we don’t hang around.”

“Finally, we fucking agree on something.” Michael jumped into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. Gavin practically threw himself into the back seat and cowered against the cracked pleather. Ryan calmly lowered himself into the driver’s seat and started the car. It sputtered noisily before the engine started properly.

“Are you, at some point, gonna tell us what the fuck you did to that guy?” Michael glanced out of the window, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “I mean, if we’re in the car with a fucking murderer….I’d rather take my chances elsewhere, know what I mean?”

The car juddered as Ryan pulled out of the lot and sped away. “He’s not dead. I’m not that stupid…or bloodthirsty.”

“Coulda fooled me,” the undead muttered to himself. “Okay, so he’s not dead,” he said to Ryan, “but you _still_ did something to him, and it _still_ looked fucking awful. If it wasn’t lethal, what the hell _was_ it?”

“Something I cooked up for myself. In case shit like this happens.”

“But _what_ was it?! Jesus, stop beating around the fucking bush, Ryan!”

“Mixture of a tranquilizer and a stun gun. Should keep ‘im out for a while…plus it might wipe out his short term memory.”

Michael flopped back against the worn seat. “‘Should? _Might?_ ’”

Ryan shrugged. “Hard to know what something’ll do when you haven’t tested it.”

“What?! You just zapped a fucking _cop_ with an untested fucking roofie…stun gun… _thing?_ You probably killed the poor fuck!”

“Wha-he was going to arrest you! I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing!” The scientist frowned and glanced over at the undead sitting beside him. Michael crossed his arms and glared back. “You want me to go back and hand you guys over? Would that make you feel better?”

“Shut up, Michael!” Gavin moved forward and tugged at Michael’s sleeve. “We are already in _so_ much trouble!”

Michael huffed. “I’m not happy about this, but…you did pull our asses out of the fire. Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, I suppose.”

He flopped back against his seat. “Fuck, I wish I could drink,” he sighed. “I could really fucking use one right now.”

“You’re starting to sound like Geoff. I never knew demons could live in bottles, but…actually, I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Seems like a kind of…demonly…thing to do.”

“Man, fuck-” Michael suddenly remembered something that brightened his night considerably. “Hey, Gav?”

The sewn-together undead twitched and moved forward. “What?”

“D’you remember the name of that one bar Geoff went to? Y’know, the one sorta close to the park where we found Ray?”

“The evil one?”

“…What?”

“It _was_ called Six Sixty Six, Michael, and that _is_ the Devil’s-”

“Yeah, that’s it! Six Sixty Six!” Michael grinned at his fellow undead. “You said they might have stuff for our kind, right?”

Gavin instantly perked up, and a grin spread over his lopsided face. “Yeah! I think it’s like _Corpse Bride,_ yeah?”

“Whatever. They gotta have _something,_ right?”

“Let me get this straight,” Ryan said, in a voice not unlike that of a stern father, “you guys want me to take you to a supernatural bar so you can get shitfaced?”

Michael thought about this and nodded. “Yeah, why you asking? You don’t wanna?”

Ryan made a face. “Not…particularly. Don’t like drinking or drunk people.”

“Yeah, Geoff said you were ‘no fun.’”

“No fun to him, sure.”

The undead scowled. “And no fun to us?”

“Guess not.”

He considered this for a moment before taking a deep breath. “So, uh, I have a question.”

“Yo.”

“Does Geoff approve of you putting cops down?”

“What Geoff doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Ryan said quietly.

“Huh.” There was a brief pause. “He’d be pissed if he found out.”

“Probably.” An edge of suspicion was creeping into the scientist’s voice, and he glanced over at Michael. “Um, why’re you bringing this up?”

“And you _really_ wouldn’t want him to find out, would you? I mean, he might be so fucking pissed he’d do something about your contract, right?” Ryan was silent, though he was now gripping his steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had turned white. “Yeah, I know, you don’t _have_ a contract, or whatever the fuck your excuse for not talking is, I don’t give a shit. Still, you don’t want Geoff finding out. I don’t want to be the one to _tell_ Geoff about this, but, y’know, duty calls, _and_ I wouldn’t mind if he was less pissed at me…”

“If you’re trying to blackmail me into taking you to the bar,” Ryan finally said, “you are doing a fucking awful job.” He sighed, and the car started slowing down. “Where is this bar, then?”

“It’s in downtown Austin.” Michael put his hands behind his head and smirked triumphantly. “6th Street and Comal.”

“Uh, not to be nosy, or whatever, but, uh, isn’t that close to where you…where you died?”

The smirk vanished immediately. “How the fuck did you know that?”

Ryan shrugged. “I did some research on you when Geoff first brought you over to my place. That’s all.”

“What?! You…fucking… _what?!_ ” Michael twisted in his seat and glared at the scientist. “Tell me everything you know _right fucking now,_ you son of a bitch!”

The scientist glanced over at Michael. His face was frustratingly calm. “There’s nothing I know that you don’t, Michael.”

“Uh, yeah there fucking is! Geoff doesn’t have a fucking spell on you to make you forget…things!” Michael hit the dashboard, and the car squealed its protest. “Why haven’t you brought this up before, you motherfucker? And don’t say it’s because I-”

“You never asked,” Ryan said, with just a little bit of smugness.

“God fucking dammit.” Michael was silent for a bit. He watched as Ryan took an exit and got on a different highway, heading straight for downtown Austin. “…So,” he finally said.

“So…what?” said Ryan.

“You gonna tell me anything?”

“Nah.”

“Of course not.” Michael scoffed and went back to staring out the window. “Cause Geoff’s got a fucking death grip on your balls, apparently.”

“Please…don’t…put that image in my head. Ugh.” Ryan shuddered. “Also, Geoff has nothing to do with it.”

“Really? _He’s_ the one who doesn’t want me to find anything out.”

“He, uh, has a point, Ryan,” Gavin piped up.

“Fuck off, Gavin.”

“I’m just trying to help, Michael! Christ.” The sewn-together undead slouched back in his seat and crossed his arms grumpily.

“C’mon, Ryan,” Michael wheedled, “can’t you tell me _anything?_ Something that could give me even _half_ a fucking clue?”

The scientist sighed deeply. “We’ll, uh, we’ll talk about this later, okay?”

“But-”

“Your plan is to get drunk, right? Then I’m gonna wait until later, when you’ll actually remember shit.”

That was Ryan’s last word on the matter, and nothing Michael said would convince him to say anything else. Gavin also attempted to worm some information out of the scientist, but to no avail. He was as stubborn as a bull, and talked about everything except what Michael wanted him to say.

Since it was already late, the trio made it to downtown Austin in less than twenty minutes. Michael and Gavin had long since given up on trying to get information out of Ryan, and were chatting animatedly. Ryan hunched over in his seat and scowled at all the stoplights.

“We’re pretty close now, Ry-Bread,” said Michael. “I _think_ it’s the next turn…?”

“Considering that sign says ‘Comal,’ you’re probably right,” said Ryan.

“All right now, no need for that.” Michael gave Ryan a faux hurt look.

“No need for what?”

“The patronizing bullshit.”

“Wha – how was that patronizing? I was _agreeing_ with you.”

“In a patronizing way, yeah.”

“Do you…even _know_ …what patronizing means?”

“Really, Ryan? You went there?”

Meanwhile, Gavin had his face pressed against the window, and was now exclaiming, “I see it! I see it!”

Michael twisted in his seat and saw the bright red neon sign of Six Sixty Six. “Finally, we’re here! Jesus Christ.”

Ryan leaned forward and frowned. “Really? I don’t see anything.”

“It’s right in front of you, you dope!” Gavin pointed out the windshield. “Right in front of you!”

He shook his head. “Still not seeing it.”

“Why not? It’s seriously…right…” Michael trailed off. He thought back to what Geoff had said back when he first led them to Six Sixty Six, and he remembered what the demon claimed was the best part of the supernatural bar. “Oh. Yeah. I forgot, you can’t see it.”

“What? Why can’t Ryan see it?”

“C’mon, Gavin, use your fucking brain! He’s normal!”

“He is absolutely not normal, Michael. He’s a bloody mentalist.”

“Um…thanks, I guess?” said Ryan.

“The fuck does that even mean, Gavin? Do you even watch that show?”

The Brit blinked. “What?”

“That CBS show, _The Mentalist._ Shitty show about a psychic or whatever.”

“What – that’s not what I meant, you absolute bell-end! He’s bloody mad!”

“Okay, on that, we agree. What I _mean,_ Gavin, is that he, unlike us, is human. Humans can’t see Six Sixty Six, remember? Only monsters can see it.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Really?” Ryan’s voice shifted from slightly annoyed to curious. He pulled into a parking spot and turned the car off. “How does that work?”

“You really think I know? Cause I don’t. I don’t have a goddamn clue.”

“Dammit, I wish I had my fucking goggles. I’ve got a setting for shit like this.” Ryan frowned and tapped the steering wheel with his index fingers. “Wish I’d thought of that.”

“You have a setting to see supernatural bars…in your weird mad scientist goggles.”

“No, I have a setting in my weird mad scientist goggles to see the supernatural. Period.” He shrugged. “Because, I am, as you say, an average human being, and all my friends are monsters.”

“While it’s true that you’re human, Ryan, you are _anything_ but average.”

“Um…thanks?”

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

“It never is,” the scientist grumbled.

“C’mon, Gav, let’s go!” Michael opened the door and put one foot on the ground, but was stopped when Ryan grabbed his upper arm. “The fuck, Ryan?”

“You still have that phone Ray gave you?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s only been, like, an hour, _maybe_ two, Ry.”

“Can you give it to me? I can activate it for you.”

The undead considered it for a second, and handed his phone to the scientist. He turned it over, popped off the back cover and took out the battery. Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out a miniature tool kit. He started to hum softly, and poked around in the phone’s innards.

“I thought you were just gonna activate it, not rewire it.” Michael looked over Ryan’s shoulder, but could not make head or tail of Ryan’s work. He looked over at Gavin and shrugged. His fellow undead shook his head and mimed an explosion. Michael rolled his eyes and turned back to Ryan. “What the hell are you doing, anyway?”

“Just making sure nobody can trace your calls,” said Ryan. “It’s not a great workaround, but, uh, I can do better work once we get back to the lab.”

“You really are a paranoid motherfucker.”

“Hey, I’m trying to help you. You think the fucking NSA or whatever won’t notice a fucking dead guy talking on the phone? Cause I’m pretty sure they check for shit like that.”

“Yeah, right.” Still, Michael stopped objecting and simply watched as Ryan finished whatever he was doing and put the battery back into the phone. He hit the power button, and the phone let out a series of chirps and flashed the Nokia logo. “You done then?”

“Nope. One more thing left to do…” Ryan tapped at the buttons for a couple of seconds before handing the phone to Michael. “There you go. Now you got my number.”

“Thanks. C’mon, Gav, let’s go.” Michael popped the door open again and beckoned to Gavin.

“Great. Have fun, I guess. Don’t worry about me or anything,” Ryan grumbled. “Not like I just knocked out a policeman or anything.”

“Then you shouldn’t have fucking attacked him, Ryan.” Michael stepped out of the car and walked toward the Satanic-themed bar.

“Wait up, Michael! You’re walking too fast, you donut!” Gavin scrambled to keep up with him, nearly tripping over the curb and falling flat on his face. A nearby parking meter saved the sewn-together undead from this humiliation, to Michael’s slight disappointment.

“ _I’m_ walking too slow? You’re the one who’s practically in another fucking state, Gavin. Try to move those fucking shitty-ass feet of yours, would ya?”

“I’m trying, Michael! D’you know how bloody hard it is to walk with two sodding mismatched feet?”

“How the fuck would I know? Unlike you, _I_ have all my fucking bits in order.”

Michael shouldered open the door and stepped into the reddish, darkened interior of Six Sixty Six. The smell of cigarette smoke, alcohol and some sort of musk hit him like a smack to the face. People were sitting at tables, sipping at drinks, laughing at anecdotes, or dancing in front of the jukebox. The bar took up the entirety of the right-hand wall, though it was only staffed by a lone demon. Bottles gleamed almost menacingly under the dim red lights. Every single bottle had a label written in a language Michael couldn’t understand.

“Michael, I’m not sure I like it here,” Gavin muttered in his ear.

“C’mon, Gavin, we can’t wuss out now. If we run out like a couple of pussies, Ryan and the others’ll never stop laughing at us.” Michael squared his shoulders and walked up to the bar.

The demon bartender stopped wiping down a scotch glass and looked at the two undead. “Haven’t seen any stiffs for a while,” he mused to himself. He set the glass down and crossed his arms. “What’ll you have? Or, have you been sent her by your…master?”

“Hey, _I’m_ my own master!” Michael snapped. “And, uh, I…don’t know what you have.”

“More like you don’t know what you can drink.” The demon snorted and scratched the base of a curled horn. “The demon who resurrected you did a shit job of explaining things.”

“You can say that again.”

The demon’s red eyes flicked over to Gavin. “What the hell are _you_ supposed to be? You have a kink, or something?”

“Oi!” Gavin opened his mouth to complain further, but was cut off when Michael elbowed him in the stomach.

“He’s undead too. Mad scientist brought him back from the dead.”

“Really? That don’t happen too often.” The bartender smirked softly. “And he don’t look half bad, either.”

“Um…yeah. Can we just get our fucking drinks now?”

“Sure thing. What’ll it be – formaldehyde? Cyanide? Maybe you’d like to try your chances with a Nine to Five? A Baneberry Cocktail, perhaps? Devil’s Delight? Belladonna Mixer?” They gaped at the bartender, who scowled. “You expect me to stand here all night and list my entire stock to you retarded grave dwellers? I have other customers to serve.”

“Uh…” Michael’s mind blanked for a second. Was Gavin right after all? Were the undead expected to down poisons in place of whiskey and beer? It was fucking crazy town. However, he couldn’t deny that he was slightly intrigued by the idea, and he was eager to feel something, _anything_ besides the daily misery of an undead’s life. “I… _guess…_ I’ll try the, uh…don’t you have undead beer or something?”

The bartender snorted. “No, but I can cook up something similar.” He turned around and pulled two brown bottles off the shelf and crooked a finger at a third a small distance away, which floated into the air and drifted toward the demon. The demon reached down and pulled two pint glasses out from beneath the bar. “I’m assuming both of you want ‘beer’?” he asked. The undead duo nodded eagerly. “Good.”

He poured a generous amount of brown liquid from the first bottle into the glasses, filling them about halfway. He hummed to himself and uncorked the second bottle, which was some yellowy substance, and splashed a bit into the glasses. Finally, he plucked the floating bottle from the air and poured a foul-smelling clear liquid into the glasses, topping them off and giving the mixture the amber color of beer.

“There ya go, two undead beers,” said the bartender. He pushed the two pints toward the boys. “That’ll be ten soul-coins.”

“Uh…” The problem of money hadn’t occurred to Michael, though he supposed it should have. He was about to start getting angry when he got an idea. “Put it on Geoff’s tab.”

The bartender sighed. “One of these days I’m gonna get that pathetic excuse for a demon to pay for his drinks.” He leaned forward and examined Michael’s face. “You his undead servant, then?”

“Fuck that. All he did was bring me back from the dead.”

“Did he?” The demon’s eyes narrowed and glowed bright red. Michael had a fleeting feeling of something dragging over his brain and down his back, but it was gone before he could object. “Shit, he did. Holy fuck, I didn’t think he had it in him.”

Gavin pulled the pint glass toward him and tentatively sniffed it. “God, this smells minging. Are you sure this is good for us to drink?”

“For guys like your friend here? Sure. For guys like you? Not so sure. You won’t know till you try.”

“Just do it, Gavin. Just drink the damn drink.” Michael pulled his own glass toward him and took a swig. _‘Holy fucking shit, this tastes like fucking poo juice.’_ He suppressed a gag and swallowed the toxic mixture. It burned all the way down, which was actually a somewhat pleasant sensation. “See? Not so bad!” The statement was somewhat negated by how breathy and rough his voice had become.

Gavin sniffed at the glass and turned away with a loud retch. “I can’t do it, Michael! God, the stench!”

“You’re the one who wanted to drink, so fucking drink!”

“C’mon, Michael…”

“Fine! Give it here!” Michael pulled the pint over to him. He turned to address the bartender, but he’d left to service some other customers. “Maybe the bartender’ll give you a scentless pussy drink or something.”

“What? I’m not a damn pussy!”

“You are a fucking pussy-ass mong.” Michael managed to swallow another big gulp of swill. It wasn’t as bad the second time around. “Probably always have been, probably always will be.”

“I am not! Bloody give it here, Michael!” Gavin lunged forward and took the pint back. He knocked back at least an eighth of the glass and immediately gagged, choked and spat the liquid all over the floor.

“Jesus fuck, Gavin, _really?_ ” Michael reached over and thumped his fellow undead on the back. “You had to spit it on the fucking floor like an _animal?_ Dude, if you get us thrown out, I will fucking kill you.”

“Oh _God!_ ” The other undead wailed. “It’s on my _knees!_ ”

“Your knees?! What about the fucking _floor?_ ”

“Sod the effing floor!” Gavin staggered to his feet and let out another loud retch. “Oh, _anus!_ ” He tottered away from the bar, holding his mismatched hand to his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Gavin.” Michael shook his head and went back to his drink, or, well, drinks. “Uh, I think we need some fucking paper towels!” he called.

The bartender appeared in front of him. “Why?” He peered over the bar and scowled at the mess on the floor. “Good God almighty.” He snapped his fingers and the mess vanished. “Your friend a lightweight or something?”

“No, I guess he just has a really strong gag reflex.” The undead shrugged and knocked back the rest of his drink. A warm bubbling sensation had started up in the pit of his stomach, and his head was feeling pleasantly fuzzy. Good Lord, he had not realized how much he missed being able to drink. He’d thought about asking what was in the ‘beer,’ but now he didn’t care.

“His loss.” The bartender shrugged.

“My gain,” Michael countered.

“Pretty much.” The demon grinned widely. “You like it, then?”

“Fuck yeah.” Michael lifted Gavin’s abandoned pint to his lips, but paused before drinking. “I, uh, won’t need to have my stomach, um, pumped, will I?”

“Why the hell would you need that? You’ve only drunk a pint.”

“I mean…I’m undead. My stomach doesn’t work anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it. The magic used to resurrect you should take care of it.”

Michael scoffed. “Like it’s taken care of me before.” Still, he felt mollified by this, and took another drink.

“Did Ramsey seriously not explain anything to you?” The demon shook his head. “It’s a wonder you haven’t re-died yet.”

“He’s explained jack shit to me. What, is he supposed to?”

“If he wants you to live, yes! I mean, it’s not a _written_ rule, but it’s encouraged. Less paperwork that way.”

“What is it with demons and fucking paperwork?” Michael’s head was starting to feel much cloudier than before, and his words were starting to slur together. “Anyway, what’m I supposed to know? What haven’t I been told?”

“I mean, there’s not _that_ much undead servants are supposed to be told. Strictly need-to-know basis. You’re basically invulnerable, ‘cept to fire, sunlight and certain forms of magic, you have all your mental faculties, you’re not allowed to contact anybody from your former life…s’about it.”

“What about forgetting shit? I keep forgetting shit I’m supposed to know.”

The bartender shrugged. “That shit is usually up to the demon who did the resurrection, so I can’t help you there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got other customers to deal with.” He pushed himself off the bar and was gone. Michael scowled and went back to his drink. While he was glad to feel drunk for the first time in forever, the happy buzz faded quickly, replaced by a muddled irritation. He was angry at Geoff for not telling him anything, angry at Ryan for pretty much the same reason, angry at Gavin for being Gavin, and was generally feeling pissed. He finished off the second drink and raised his hand for another round.

The rest of the night turned into a blur. Gavin came back at some point, ordered a different drink, and together the pair drank and fooled around. Several of the other supernatural patrons welcomed them into their group, and they kept the drinks coming. They couldn’t quite remember who the other patrons were or what types of drinks they were given, but they remembered switching from rapidly laughing uproariously at everything in the world and pushing other patrons around and complaining loudly. It was the most fun either of them had had in nearly two weeks.

By the time he fell asleep on the cracked pleather seat of a corner booth, Michael had quite forgotten why he had been so upset earlier that evening.


	19. Why Don't You Get Hang-Over It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael and Gavin wake up to find they have the absolute worst hangovers ever. Of all time.
> 
> And things only get worse from there.

The first thing Michael noticed was a horrible headache. A spot right between his eyes was throbbing rhythmically, and every throb made his brain feel like it was being clamped in a vice. He groaned and buried his face in his musty pillow. _‘Great. Fucking great. Of all the things I missed about being alive, fucking hangovers was not one of them. Fuck.’_

He opened his eyes and flinched at the one ray of sunlight shining through the boarded up window. _‘Fuck this.’_ He pushed his face back into the pillow.

Just when he was drifting back into unconsciousness, a whimper sounded from somewhere to his right. “Oh, God…”

“Shut up, Gavin,” Michael groaned. “You’re making my head hurt, you asshole.”

“I feel _terrible._ ”

“Join the fucking club. Now shut up and go back to sleep.” He grabbed the other pillow and put it over his head in an attempt to muffle the sounds of the Brit’s continued whining.

“Michael?”

“Can you just fuck off already? Jesus.”

“How did we get back here?”

“Easy. We, uh…we…” Michael lifted the pillow the slightest bit and squinted around. They were, in fact, back in the shabby guestroom in Ryan’s house. Even more astonishing, Michael had absolutely no idea how he and Gavin had got here. “…shit. That is the _last_ time I go drinking with you.”

“What? I didn’t do anything!”

“Shut up – you _know_ what you did.” He groaned and pushed the pillow back down. “God, my head hurts _so_ much…”

“But _Michael_ … _”_

“Shut up and let me be miserable in peace.” He burrowed down further into the pillow. The throb between his eyes wasn’t going to go away any time soon, and his stomach felt like it was rolling around in a washing machine. _‘Oh fucking God I’m gonna be sick. I’m gonna puke everywhere like a fucking asshole.’_

Just when he was drifting back to sleep, Michael heard someone come up the stairs and to the guestroom door. “Fuck off!” he croaked.

Of course his request went unheeded, and the door creaked open. “You guys _do_ know it’s noon, right?” asked Ryan.

“You _do_ know that I don’t give a shit, right?” Michael let one of his hands fall out of the pillow and waved his middle finger in the general direction of the door. “Now fuck off and let me sleep.”

“Nah.” There was a soft click, and Michael heard Gavin squawk angrily. “Now c’mon. Geoff’s downstairs, and he is fucking _pissed_.”

“Yeah? What happened? Satan piss on his boots or something?”

“Uh…no?”

“Then what the fuck is it and why should we care?”

“Actually, he, uh, heard about…what you guys did last night.”

“What?” Michael sat up and immediately regretted it. His stomach lurched horribly, the pounding in his head increased and little black spots popped up all over his vision. “How the fuck...” He took a breath and squeezed his eyes shut. “…did you fucking rat on us, asshole?”

“…Well, no, but you _did_ reek of booze, and Geoff got a call from the bartender saying he owed him nearly two hundred and fifty soul-coins. It wasn’t _that_ hard for him to put two and two together.”

Michael squinted at the scientist. The light still hurt his eyes, but it didn’t make him want to keel over and die like it had before. “Did he bring us back here?”

“No, I did. I’m gonna guess you guys got kicked out of the bar for some reason, so I got you into the car and brought you back here. Wasn’t fucking easy.”

Michael groaned and flopped back onto the bed. “I feel like utter dog shit.”

“Maybe getting shitfaced _wasn’t_ the best idea, then.”

“Uh, maybe you could, I don’t know, sound _less_ smug about it?”

“I don’t know…I feel like I should be saying ‘I told you so’ right about now.”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Ryan. I will fucking kill you, I swear to God.” Michael lurched off the bed and fell to the floor in an ungainly heap. “Just keep standing there, you son of a bitch. I swear, as soon as I figure out how to get up without puking my fucking brains out, I’ll get you.”

“Shut _up,_ Michael,” Gavin groaned. “My head is _really_ doing me in right now.”

“ _You_ shut up,” he retorted.

“Wow. Just…wow.” Michael was hauled up by the neck of his shirt. He staggered a bit, but managed to not fall on his ass a second time. “Tell me… _why_ is this so appealing?”

“ _This_ part isn’t,” Michael mumbled, “but last night kinda was.”

“Was it, though?”

“Just help me out, asshole.” The undead hobbled over a step or two until he felt cloth brush his hand. He then let himself tilt a little bit, and felt the scientist stagger just a little bit before correcting himself.

“All right, come on. Jesus.”

By using Ryan as a crutch, Michael was able to make his way downstairs and into the living room. Jack was sitting on the couch, watching some show that was way too loud and way too bright. He squinted his eyes as close to closed as possible and hid behind Ryan.

“Good morning, Michael!” the swamp monster greeted.

“Jesus Christ, keep your fucking voice down.” Michael covered his ears and leaned against the scientist. “God, I feel like my skull is about to _burst._ ”

“I see you’re doing well today.” Michael poked his arm out from behind Ryan’s back and flipped Jack off. He laughed and shook his head. “Good to see you too, Michael.”

Michael ignored this and tried to push Ryan forward. The scientist sighed, but guided Michael over to the table and helped him down into a chair. As soon as his ass touched wood, he slumped and let his head fall onto the table with a dull _thunk._

“Michael, what the _fuck?!_ ”

Michael groaned and covered his head with his arms. “Geoff, c’mon! Warn a guy before you scream at him.”

“I leave you for _one_ fucking day, and you decide to drink me into fucking debt?! What the _fuck?_ ” A sudden wave of heat licked the skin of Michael’s left arm, and bluish light filtered into the crack between Michael’s arm and the worn table. “Dude, that is…Jesus!”

“The fuck did you expect me to do? I have no money, Geoff! Everything I had when I was alive is fucking gone!” The yelling made Michael’s head hurt even more, and he let out a groan. “Fuck, why do I have a goddamn hangover? I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Well, if you knock back a dozen fucking poisons, you’re gonna have a bad time, buddy. Just how it is.” Michael heard a loud sigh and the long _squeak_ of a floorboard. “Seriously, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“If you’re gonna be mad at anybody, be mad at Ryan! He’s the one who drove us there!”

“Wha-I only-you _asked_ me to do it, and I wanted…I just wanted to be _nice._ ”

“Ryan, believe it or not, I’m not actually that mad at you.”

“Aw, thanks, Geoff.”

“I’m still gonna have a word or two with you when I’m done with Michael, though.”

“Really?”

“Oh, wha-yes, really, you fucking…enabler!”

“What did you want me to do, Geoff? You _know_ I couldn’t go in there after them! Despite what you may think, I _am_ only human. I couldn’t even _see_ the fucking place!”

“I know, I know! It’s just…dude, I fucking _entrusted_ Michael to you so he would be safe, _not_ so he could run around like a fucking lunatic and drink himself to death!”

“Really? Cause _I_ thought you did it so you could fucking…do whatever it is you do… _without_ having to worry about a confused dead guy.”

“Yeah, cause you’re fucking stupid, and you know what else, you’re-”

“Shut up!” Michael sat upright and glared around him. Ryan was leaning against a nearby wall and Geoff was sitting to his left. Ryan’s cheeks had pinked while Geoff’s horns were burning with brilliant blue-white flames, and the demon’s claws were digging into the table, leaving tiny gouge marks in the rough wood. They had been staring each other down, but upon Michael’s exclamation, their attention switched to him. “Stop fucking talking about me like I’m not here! Jesus, fucking _assholes!_ ” He put his head back in his hands and rubbed the area between his eyes. “Or at least do it more _quietly._ ”

“We’re _not_ talking about you like you’re not here. We’re _arguing_ about you like you’re not here,” said Ryan. “It’s an important distinction.”

“Ryan, remember when I said I wasn’t that mad at you? Cause, uh, you’re starting to push it.”

“What?”

Michael looked up again and met Geoff’s eyes. “Why the fuck are you mad, anyway? Besides the, uh, you know, obvious reason. Seriously, I thought those other guys were paying.”

“Never trust demons, Michael. Most of them are fucking dicks, dude.” Geoff idly fiddled with his mustache and continued to stare at Michael. “As to why I’m so fucking pissed off right now – remember what happened the _last_ time you wandered off? You and Gavin nearly got yourselves _killed!_ ”

“I’m _twenty fucking_ _seven,_ Geoff! I don’t need to have an adult with me wherever I go! And besides, everything was _fine_ until _you_ showed up and freaked Ray the fuck out!”

“Yeah? And what about last night, when a whole bunch of demons you’d never met before starting pouring drinks down your fucking throat, huh? If the fucking bartender hadn’t cut you off and thrown you out, who _knows_ what could’ve happened?”

“Um…”

“Look, I’m only mad because I worry, you know? You’re like a fucking newborn, Michael, and I don’t…I don’t want anything to happen to you.” The demon let out a puff of smoke and sagged in his chair. “I know I’m not exactly doing a good job of explaining shit, but-”

“Not doing a good job? _Not doing a good job?!_ ” Michael jumped to his feet. The chair he was sitting on crashed to the ground and split down the middle of the seat. He paid the broken furniture no heed, instead focusing on the demon sitting before him. “You’ve told me _nothing_ about being undead! All you did was ditch me the moment I came out of the fucking ground!”

“Michael-”

“And you know what else? You _never_ told me I could eat or drink anything. A fucking _bartender_ who couldn’t give two shits about me told me more about myself in five minutes than you did in a few _weeks._ Hell, _Ryan’s_ told me more about myself than you have! How fucked up is _that?_ ”

Geoff’s eyes narrowed, and he turned to look at the scientist. “Ryan, you motherfucker…”

“What? _You_ said ‘take care of him.’ That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

The demon let out a hiss of steam. “Sure, I told you to take care of him, but did I tell you to…to…fucking _nark?_ No! I sure as hell didn’t! ‘Take care’ doesn’t mean pissing on the contract that keeps him alive, dumbass!”

“I haven’t even told him that much! I just did a blood test, and-”

“And _what,_ Ryan?”

“Nothing,” the scientist muttered. “That was about it.”

“Yeah, it’s not _that_ fucking much, Geoff,” said Michael. “I don’t see why you’re so fucking pissy.”

“How many times do I have to say it – I’m fucking worried about you!”

“Why do you even _care?!_ I’m just some fucking asshole who was shot in the street! Find another guy to fuss over and let me fucking live my own life.” At that moment, Michael’s head reminded him that he was hungover, and he let it sink into his hands with a dull groan.

“Sure, I _could_ do that…but I think I won’t.” A hand patted Michael’s shoulder consolingly. “Besides, you look fucking _terrible._ ”

“You mean worse than I usually do?”

“Actually, yeah, you do. You look like you’ve been left in a fucking ditch for a month.”

“Thanks, Geoff. Now, is there _anything_ I can do for this fucking hangover _besides_ kill myself?”

“Can’t he just, uh, take aspirin or, uh, drink some coffee or…some shit like that?” asked Ryan.

“Says the guy who has _never_ been hungover a day in his fucking life,” Geoff scoffed.

“Hey, I haven’t been hungover, but I _do_ know what a bad headache feels like.”

“Um, asshole, hangovers are _more_ than just headaches, so get your sober-ass opinions out of this conversation.”

“I’m trying to help!”

“Stop trying! I can handle this.”

“Like you handle everything else around here?”

“Ryan, you – I – Jesus fucking Christ you need to stop pushing my goddamn buttons. One day, I swear to God I’ll fucking…you know…”

“Will you stop your fucking arguing already?! You’re making my headache even _worse!_ Jesus fucking Christ who give a shit? Shut the hell up and let me suffer in peace.” Michael righted his chair and sat back down. His stomach was twisting horribly, his throat was pulsing, and his frontal lobe felt like it was trying to escape from his skull. “Holy shit, I want to die.”

“Um, Geoff? Are you _sure_ there’s nothing we can do for him?”

“There’s nothing _you_ can do, asshole. Go shove a test tube up your ass or something.”

“Well…fuck you.” Michael glanced up just in time to see Ryan spin on his heel, march to the door of his lab, and disappear down the stairs.

“Such remarkable comebacks…no wonder you’re a fucking scientist,” the demon muttered. “So, Michael, I _might_ have something that’ll help you, but I don’t know if-”

The undead’s head jerked up off the table. “Oh my God, yes _please!_ Hand it over before I fucking die of my goddamn hangover!”

“Maybe this’ll teach you not to overindulge, buddy.”

“Says the demon who can’t go one fucking day without getting drunk.”

“…Whatever. Just swallow these and you should start feeling better.” Geoff pulled Michael’s hand toward him and dropped something into his open palm. “Best thing for hangovers.”

“Thank God. I thought-” The words died in Michael’s throat when he saw what Geoff had given him. Several tiny bones rested in the palm of his hand. They were bleached yellow by time and clattered softly in his palm. “What the _fuck?!”_

“C’mon, those are black cat bones! Every demon uses them! Best hangover cure out there!”

Michael gaped at him. “Are you fucking _serious?_ These are fucking _cat bones?_ What d’you wash ‘em down with…fucking dog blood or something?”

“No, ew. Why would we do that? Fucking gross, dude.” The demon grimaced and shook his head.

“Great. Glad to know dog blood is where you draw the line.”

“Yeah, whatever, just eat the fucking bones, dude.”

“Do I _really-_ ”

“Do you _want_ to stay hungover?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then stop being a little bitch and eat the goddamn bones! God, it feels like I’m talking to Gavin or something, jeez.”

That was enough to push Michael over the edge. He closed his eyes and tossed the bones into his mouth. His teeth made quick work of the ancient yellowy things, which tasted like a combination of dust, sand, and, oddly enough, Grape Nuts. He choked when the awful paste hit the back of his throat and made to spit it out. Geoff, who was watching him sternly, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. Michael glared at him, took a deep breath, and swallowed. The ground-up bones scratched his throat the entire way down, creating an itch he would never be able to scratch. He gasped and coughed and spat in an effort to make the awful feeling go away, but to no avail.

“I… _hope…_ ” he gagged, “this’ll…this’ll be…fucking _worth it._ ”

“Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon.”

“Will I? Will I _really?_ Fuck, I feel _worse_ than I did before!”

“Give it time, Michael. You’ll feel better.” The demon grinned smugly. His forked tongue flicked briefly out from between his fangs.

He groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you go bother Gavin or something?”

“Actually, where is that loser Frankenstein ripoff? He’s not still in bed, is he?”

“You got it.”

“Jesus, you guys _really_ need to figure your fucking moderation out.” Before Michael could start arguing again, Geoff was heading for the stairs and had vanished with a flick of his tufted tail. The undead rested his head in his hands and let out a sigh. At least his head was feeling a _little_ bit better, though his stomach was still rolling around like a dog in a field.

His miserable musings were interrupted when his ass vibrated. Michael leaped out of his chair and beat at his butt. His fear immediately vanished when he found the candy bar Nokia phone in his back pocket. _‘Goddammit, I’m jumping at fucking_ phones _now? Jesus Christ, I need to calm my fucking tits.’_ He pulled the phone out of his pocket and hit the power button. The phone’s screen informed him that he had a new message. Michael sat down and took a look.

**Unknown Number: ryan get that phone working yet?**

Considering only two people had this number, and one of them was sulking in his underground lab, there was only one person this could be. Still, better to be safe than sorry. Michael slid the phone open and began typing.

Mjones: that you ray?

The reply was nearly immediate.

**Unknown Number: yeah sorry its me**

Mjones: how did you get this number?

**Unknown Number: its my phone remember?  
I don’t have that number anymore but I still remember it**

Mjones: I thought ry-bread changed it

**Unknown Number: guess not**

Mjones: so what are you up to?

**Unknown Number: working on my Gamerscore. Trying to get to 500000.**

Mjones: how’s that going?

**Unknown Number: Little less than halfway there.  
So really fucking slowly.**

Mjones: why are you so fucking obsessed with it anyway?

**Unknown Number: I’m a loser with no life that’s why.  
So what are you doing?**

Mjones: gav and I went to a bar last night

**Unknown Number: that’s nice**

Mjones: we both got fucked up

**Unknown Number: cool**

Mjones: now were recovering from a hangover  
it sucks

**Unknown Number: wow sounds great**

Mjones: if by great you mean fucking terrible

**Unknown Number: hope you had fun**

Mjones: I think we did?

**Unknown Number: why even bother if you aren’t gonna remember anything?  
sounds like a huge fucking waste**

Mjones: now you sound like ry  
what, do you not drink either?

 **Unknown Number: nope**  
I guess that means we can be team sober  
go team sober yay

Mjones: you can be team no fun

**Unknown Number: cause youre having lots of fun right now**

Mjones: fuck you

**Unknown Number: wow fucking rude  
have fun with your hangover I guess**

Mjones: I will.  
thanks for caring ray

**Unknown Number: youre welcome**

Michael shook his head and tucked the phone into his front pocket. Then he stood up, stretched, and headed over to the living room. Jack was still watching the TV. His humorous demeanor had long since diminished. Now he was leaning forward, elbows resting on knees, eyes fixed intently on the screen. His fins gently flexed on either side of his head in a constant, lazy pattern of open-close-open-close. Michael switched his attention to the television. At the moment, it was playing a Taco Bell commercial. Hardly worth the change in attitude.

“Jack, I know you’re a fat fuck, but seriously, it’s just a commercial.”

“Hmm?” He looked over at Michael and frowned. “Oh, no, I’m actually watching the news.”

Michael sat down beside him. “Yeah? Anything interesting?”

“Not yet, but I’m kinda worried. Geoff told me you guys found me cause of the news…what if we’re still on there? We’d all be totally fucked.” Jack stroked his algae-infested beard and bit his lip.

“C’mon, what’re they gonna say? ‘Five monsters and one asshole sighed at lake’s edge?’ They’d be laughed out of the fucking studio. Anyway, even if they _did_ report about it, and they _were_ taken seriously, it’s not like they’d be able to find us.” Michael glanced over at the swamp monster. “…Could they?”

“I _really_ want to say yes, but I’m not one hundred percent sure.”

“I mean, Ryan’s _so_ fucking paranoid about this shit. He’s _got_ to have made sure nobody could know about us…” Michael shrugged. “…then again, he _did_ put down a cop…and stole a truck…and bought a body off the black market…fuck it, all bets are off.”

“All bets are off what?”

Both men jumped and looked around. Ryan was standing next to them, though neither of them had heard him approach. Hell, they hadn’t even heard the lab door open. The scientist was still wearing his lab coat and goggles, and Michael wondered if he even cared about appearing the slightest bit normal anymore. Knowing Ryan, the answer was probably no.

“All bets are off as to whether or not you’re fucking insane,” Michael finally replied.

“I mean, it’s all there in the name. I’m a _mad_ scientist, not a _sane_ scientist.” Ryan waved his hand in some vague affirmative gesture. “Listen, sometimes you just have to think outside the sanity box.”

“‘Think outside the sanity box’? Really, Ryan, could you sound any lamer?”

“Hey, hey, don’t be judging me.” The scientist z snapped and attempted a head bob, though it was somewhat thwarted by his heavy goggles. “I got my own lingo…stuff.”

“I didn’t realize flubbing words counted as ‘lingo stuff.’”

“When was the last time you heard me flub a word? Be honest.”

The undead shrugged. “An hour ago, maybe? You do it so much it’s hard to keep track sometimes. Maybe if you put as much effort into talking as you did into acting like a creep, you wouldn’t flub your words all the fucking time.”

Ryan deflated somewhat at this. “Oh.”

Jack laughed at the look on his face. “Woah, sick burn!” he said, putting a pseudo surfer lilt on the words. He held his hand out for a high five, and Michael gladly obliged.

A sudden commotion on the stairs broke into the moment, and all three men turned to look at the stairwell. There was a scuffling sound and several thumps, followed by a short, birdlike screech.

“Um…in all honesty, do we really wanna know?” Ryan asked.

“When you put it like that, no, no we don’t,” said Jack.

“Geoff, c’mon, I’m not having it!” Gavin’s exclamation brought their attention back to the stairwell. All three of them leaned in, listening closely.

“You’re a fucking _adult,_ so suck it up and get downstairs!”

“Adults can stay in bed if they feel off! After last night I feel just about done in, so sod off and let me sleep!”

“Oh, you’re just fucking _asking_ for it, aren’t ya? You just _want_ me to get Ryan up here! I’ll fucking call that creepy fuck up here – don’t think I _won’t!_ ”

Ryan frowned. “What does he think I am, Gavin’s fucking nanny?”

“I dunno, _you_ brought him back to life. Maybe he thinks you can fix what’s wrong with him, like he did for me.”

Ryan considered this. “Well, he can take some Alieve or Excedrin or some other shit… _but,_ if he keeps being an ass, there’s always the stomach pump, or maybe even stomach surgery…hell, if it’s _really_ bad, I might have to completely exsanguinate him. You know what? Fuck it. I’ll go.” He pulled a pair of blue latex gloves out of his left pocket and put them on. Then he reached into his right pocket and took out the biggest syringe Michael had ever seen. Its barrel was six inches long, the needle had to be nearly eight, and the two-ring plunger another four. It was filled near to the brim with clear liquid, which the scientist checked against the light. “Hmm…yeah, still good, still good.”

“Why are you carrying that in your _pocket?_ ” Jack had gone a funny shade of green, or rather, a funnier shade of green than normal. “Ryan, what the hell?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just a sedative. Nothing lethal.”

“It might be lethal if you give him the entire fucking syringe! Jesus Christ, Ryan!” Michael pushed himself back into the couch. No way was he gonna let Ryan get near _him_ when he was holding the mother of all needles.

“I’m not even gonna _give_ it to him! It’s just for…y’know…a little intimidation. That’s it. Anyway, I _just_ want to make sure there isn’t going to be any lasting harm from all this shit. If I have to replace his fucking liver _again,_ I’m gonna be pissed.”

Jack stared at him. “…You had to replace his _liver?_ ”

“Well, it wasn’t going to do him any good with a windshield’s worth of glass in it.” Ryan rolled his shoulders and thwacked the needle against his palm. “Right…be right back.” With that, he headed for the stairs.

“Man, Ryan is _so_ much creepier than I remember. What the fuck happened to him?”

“How the hell would I know? Maybe being locked in here with all his fucked up experiments messed up his mind or something. Maybe he was just born that way. Maybe his thing with Geoff fucked with him.” Michael shook his head. “I still have no idea how you guys met. He’s a fucking recluse!”

Jack was quiet for a moment. “…He…wasn’t…at least, not at first.”

Michael stared at him. “What?”

A screech sounded from upstairs, followed by frantic thumping on the stairs. Gavin exploded into the living room and dived for Michael and Jack. “Oh _God_ he’s got a bleeding giant _needle!_ Help me, Michael!”

Michael sighed. “Don’t worry, Gavin, I’ll protect you.”

Jack snickered. “Didn’t he just want to get him downstairs?”

“Yeah, but clearly he didn’t tell Gavin that.”

“What?” Gavin blinked up at Michael. “What the toss is going on?”

“I mean, that doesn’t mean he _won’t_ stick Gavin,” said Michael. “Maybe he’ll do it just cause Geoff got all up in his shit about it.”

“Possible.” Jack nodded.

“Guys…I’m scared.” Gavin whimpered and ducked his head. “That sodding _needle…_ ”

The stairs squeaked again, and Gavin let out a squeal. “Man up, dude. He won’t get you.”

Geoff came into the living room first. He was grinning from ear to ear, tail whipping jovially behind him. “Oh my God…that was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen! Gavin’s fucking _face_ when you came in with that needle…Christ, I’m gonna be laughing all day!”

Ryan followed close behind the demon. His hands were in his coat pockets and a contented smirk was on his face. “It was pretty glorious.” They stopped in front of Michael, Gavin and Jack. “This better make us even, Geoff.”

“Even at what?”

The scientist blinked. “…Never mind.”

The demon turned to see what was on TV. “Anything good on?”

“Just watching the news,” said Jack. “Nothing yet.”

“Why’re you doing that? There’s shit that’s _much_ more interesting than the fucking news.”

“I’m just making sure nobody knows about us, considering you ripped my ass apart for being seen by people.” Both Ryan and Geoff stared at Jack, who sighed. “Did you guys not even _consider_ the possibility of us being followed?”

“Idiots,” Michael snickered.

“No, I’ve just never heard anything so stupid in my entire life,” said Geoff. “I mean, seriously, how dumb do you think we are?”

“Do you _really_ want me to answer that?”

“Okay, first off, fuck you. Secondly, do you _seriously_ think I didn’t make sure nobody could see or hear us that night? Because I did.”

Michael snorted. “Really? Cause I seem to remember you busting our balls over being seen by the lakeside. Something about ‘a whole bunch of asshole monsters with their dicks in their hands’? Remember that?”

Geoff scowled. “Well, if somebody _did_ show up there-”

“Yeah, sure, Geoff.” Michael looked over at Ryan. “What about you, Ry-Bread? What happened to that truck you stole, huh?”

“What? Ryan stole a truck?” Gavin pushed himself onto the couch and goggled at Michael. “When did that happen?”

“Are you fucking _serious?_ Geoff tore Ryan’s ass apart about it, remember? You were fucking _there!_ ”

“Please don’t ever say that again.” Ryan grimaced. “Anyway, I dismantled it sometime after we got back.”

“Seriously? The _entire_ thing?”

“Well…no, but I’m getting there.” The scientist shrugged. “It’s nice to have some new materials, though.”

“You’re bloody mental,” said Gavin.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “What was that, Gavin?” As he was speaking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the giant syringe.

The good half of Gavin’s face went pale. “Nothing, nothing.”

“Will you stop waving that fucking thing around, Ryan? It was funny the first time, now it’s just…weird.”

“What? I’m not going to do anything with it!” Ryan tucked the syringe back into his pocket and sulked. “I still want to give him a checkup, though.”

“Why? I’m not sick, you psycho!” Gavin tried his best to hide behind Michael, but Michael refused to budge from his seat on the couch. “Piss off!”

“Gavin, I _just_ want to make sure nothing’s damaged after what happened last night. I mean, fucking _poisons?_ Really?” The scientist shook his head. “What the hell were you thinking? _Were_ you thinking?”

“Gavin, just fucking go. The sooner you do it, the sooner it’ll be over. Hell, I’ll fucking go with you if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I promise not to use any needles,” Ryan wheedled.

“Do you? Do you really?” asked Geoff.

“Well, I can _try,_ can’t I?”

“Jesus Christ,” said Jack.

“Fine, I’ll go.” Gavin stood. “And…I’ll be fine by myself, Michael.” He tottered forward and nearly tripped over his own feet. “Oh, God, my _head…_ ”

The scientist sighed, but led the sewn-together undead out of the living room. The remaining three heard the telltale _whoosh_ of the lab door opening and closing, and then the only sound that could be heard throughout the house was that of the television.

“Okay, that was annoying,” said Geoff, “so how about we-”

“We need to talk,” said Michael.

The demon tensed. “Didn’t anyone teach you not to interrupt? Fucking _rude._ ”

“I don’t give a shit. We need to _talk._ ”

“About…what, exactly?”

“About wha – you _know,_ you son of a bitch, you fucking _know!”_ Michael jumped up from the couch, fists clenched and face thunderous. “I wanna know why you aren’t telling me anything!”

“Michael…” Jack’s voice was soft, but the warning was loud and clear.

“Fuck off, Jack! I fucking _need_ this, otherwise I will fucking go insane and kill something! I’m _done,_ do you hear me? I’m fucking _done._ I’m done with not knowing anything, I’m done with all the fucking evasiveness, I’m done with the lies and the distractions and the fucking around! I’m _done!_ I want to know _something!_ I don’t care what the fuck it is,I just want to know _anything_ you can tell me about my goddamn life!”

Geoff bristled. “I’ve _told_ you a thousand goddamn times that I _can’t._ Not won’t, not don’t want to, _can’t._ I’d be risking _everything_ I hold dear if I did that. Do you fucking get it yet?”

“How fucking selfish can you _be?!_ You won’t tell me because _you’ll_ get in trouble? What about _me?_ What do _I_ get out of this?!” Michael stormed forward and got right in Geoff’s face. He wasn’t afraid. Maybe he should have been – after all, Geoff’s fire magic could wipe him off the face of the planet – but he wasn’t, not even a tiny bit. He was far too fucking pissed for that.

“Why would you even _want_ to know? You’re not going to like _anything_ I tell you!”

“Who gives a shit?! It’s better than knowing _nothing!_ I’d rather know who I am and what I did and be sad than know jack shit and be miserable _anyway!_ ”

“You know what, Michael? You know what? _Fine!_ You wanna know everything, Michael? I'll fucking tell you. Hell, I'll even let you remember it! You'll remember every sad little detail about your pathetic death and fucking cry like a little bitch." By this point, Geoff's flame had nearly consumed the top of his head and was moving down toward his eyes. Flame licked at his fingers and danced in his palms. His tail burned bright bluish white and left a trail of shimmering heat and smoke in its wake.

Michael didn't care about Geoff's rage or his own potential heartbreak. All he could think about was the end of his ignorance. He'd finally get all his answers; he'd finally know who he was and what he'd done; he'd finally know what everyone else said he was forgetting. "Fucking _finally!_ I knew you couldn't be an asshole forever! Tell me everything... _please."_

Geoff's flames vanished without so much as a puff of smoke. "Oh, uh, I...wasn't really...shit."

Michael’s fingernails dug into his palms; black blood oozed from in between his fingers and dripped onto the worn carpet. "You...motherfucking... _cunt."_

"What? What did I do?!"

"Do you just... _want_ to torture me or something?! You fucking _know_ how much I want to remember everything, or, Hell, _anything_ about my life! Stop jerking me around, goddammit! I. Want. _Answers."_

"Believe me, Michael, I would _love_ to tell you everything. I really would. It's just...well..."

"Oh, lemme guess. You _can_ 't tell me.” Michael moved until there was only an inch of space between him and the angry demon. He jabbed the demon’s chest with a bloodied index finger, his hand shaking with rage. “You're too much of a goddamn coward to even-"

"Wha - a _coward?_ You have the _balls_ to fucking _dare_ to call _me_ a _coward?!_ You fucking cocksucker! You...you goddamn little bitch!" The demon jerked back with a loud hiss. His flames roared into horrible life, and he made as if to strangle the undead YouTuber. Michael stood his ground, and brought up his fists. He wasn't going out without a fight, goddammit!

At that point, Jack leaped off the couch and put himself in between Geoff and Michael. “Okay, seriously, you two, stop it! Michael, you need to back off, and Geoff, you need to calm down. We’ve destroyed enough of Ryan’s stuff already.”

“Fuck off, Jack! This is none of your goddamn business.”

“I’m gonna make it my business if you’re gonna whip it out and wave it in front of me, Geoffrey.” Jack glared sternly at the demon and kept his hands raised. Several of the plants on his scaly forearms wilted from Geoff’s intense heat, but the swamp monster stood fast and firm. “Besides, I’m with Michael. He deserves to know what’s going on.”

“What – have you lost your fucking _mind,_ you fucking traitor?! You of all people should know why I can’t do that!” Geoff snarled and flexed his claws threateningly. “Now get the fuck out of my way!”

“No.” The swamp monster shifted so his stance was wider and oriented himself toward Geoff. He flexed his own claws, squared his shoulders and crouched down in front of the undead. “Not until you agree to help Michael.”

“Jack, you don’t have to do this,” said Michael. “It’s my fight. I can handle it.”

Both Jack and Geoff ignored Michael in favor of staring each other down. “You were there when…last time. You know the rules as well as I do. I _can’t_ break them. Not won’t – _can’t._ ” Geoff’s tail flicked anxiously behind him, fire still burning at its tip.

“Yeah, and I know what happened _because_ of it, _and_ I’m not going to stand by and watch it happen again, Geoff. Look around you.” Jack gestured to the blueprint covered walls, overloaded coffee table and threadbare carpet. “ _This_ is what your goddamn rules have done for the last soul you dealt with. Are you _really_ proud of that? Do you want Michael to end up the same way?”

Geoff’s flames diminished somewhat. “…well…no, but…fuck.”

“I _knew_ it!” Michael suddenly exclaimed, and both Jack and Geoff jumped. “I _knew_ Ryan made a deal with you!”

Geoff huffed angrily. A black cloud of smoke left his mouth and drifted lazily toward the ceiling. “All right, fine, yes, I made a fucking deal with him. It was, like, three years ago, though, and…well, neither of us…really…like talking about it.”

“Gee, I wonder why that is,” said Jack.

“You know what? I don’t have to deal with this. Fuck you guys.” Geoff flipped them both of and turned smartly on his heel.

“No you fucking don’t! We still have to talk, asshole! You’re gonna make me remember everything!” Michael pushed Jack aside and ran for the demon. Before he could get his hands on him, Geoff vanished into thin air. Instead of nabbing Geoff, Michael careened straight into the wall next to the TV. He crashed to the ground, blueprints raining down around him, and cursed his luck. _‘Damn it all to Hell! I just want some goddamn **answers!**_ _Is that too much to ask for?’_

Jack let out a great sigh. “I knew he was going to do that. Still, I _wish_ he’d try to listen at least _once_ in his life.” He flumped down on the couch and rubbed his forehead.

Michael pushed himself to his feet and immediately turned on the swamp monster. “Why did you have to fuck it up, huh? I was gonna get that fucker to talk one way or the other!”

The swamp monster folded his arms. “He’s not going to bend that easily, Michael. I’ve known Geoff for about a century now, and he’s pretty fucking stubborn when he wants to be.”

“I don’t give a shit if he’s…wait, a _century?”_ Michael temporarily forgot he was angry in the face of this fact. “How old _are_ you guys?”

“Um…Geoff’s about…God, he has to be going on three hundred and ninety now. I’m not quite that old yet. Only three hundred years old or so.” Jack shrugged. “You lose count after a while.”

The undead stared at him. “Are you fucking serious? You guys are over _three hundred_ years old?!”

“I think so, yeah.”

“What about Ryan? Is he an old fart too?”

“What?” Jack quickly shook his head, causing his fins to flap wildly. “Oh, no, he’s not even close. Despite his, uh, _personality,_ he’s one hundred percent human.”

“Really? Then what the hell was his deal for? Isn’t it usually for immortality?”

“…if you really want to know, you should ask Ryan about it. All I’m gonna say is it _wasn’t_ for immortality. He’s just as mortal as any other human.”

“I thought he wasn’t allowed to talk about it.”

Jack bit his lip. “ _Technically_ he isn’t supposed to, but it doesn’t really jeopardize his contract if he does.” He sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He is _not_ going to be happy about this.”

Michael considered this. “If he _does_ have a deal with Geoff, why the fuck is he so…so…why is he such an asshole to him? Geoff can break the contract, right?”

“Sure, but you think Geoff really wants to? He might _act_ like a dick, but he does care about his contract brokers. And…well…let’s just say it has a lot to do with his contract. Seriously, though, you need to talk with Ryan about it. It’s _really_ none of my business.”

“You were all up in mine and Geoff’s business a minute ago!”

“Yeah, but _you_ don’t have an obsession with cutting things apart. Or syringes. Or weird science shit.” Jack shuddered. “I don’t know about you, but I do _not_ want to end up on an operating table.”

“…I see your point.” The undead grumbled and swung back to face the TV. “You think he’d talk to me, though?”

Jack shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Great.” Michael crossed his arms and turned his attention wholly on the TV.

A though occurred to him after five minutes of commercials. Last night, before his and Gavin’s drinking binge, he’d talked to Ryan about his mysterious past. Ryan’s response…Ryan’s response was… _‘Holy shit, he said he knew everything about me! Fuck, maybe I **should** try to worm that shit out of him.’_

“I’m…gonna go see if Ryan’s done with Gav,” he finally said.

“All right,” said Jack. “Have…fun?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Michael started off for the entrance to Ryan’s lab. He walked up to the steel door and rapped smartly on the metal. “Ryan! I wanna talk to you! Are you doing fucked up shit down there?”

He waited for only a minute before the door chirped and swung open. He took the stairs two at a time and bounded into the lab. The same pile of machinery greeted him from the mouth of the lab, and he glanced around for Ryan and Gavin.

Michael ended up finding them at the same table where he found Gavin the first time. The sewn-together undead was lying on the table, his face pale and turned toward the doorway. Ryan stood over him. He was not only wearing his goggles and gloves, but also a surgical mask and a stethoscope.

“Ryan, what the fuck are you doing?” Gavin asked. Michael couldn’t help but start. That was the first time he had ever heard Gavin legitimately swear. “Bloody hell, I can _feel_ it, whatever it is.”

“Gavin, I told you, at some point you swallowed something you shouldn’t have, and I’m gonna get it out.” Ryan’s voice was muffled by his mask, but his annoyance was still obvious. “Be patient, will you?”

Michael walked up and looked down at what Ryan was doing. His stomach turned and he muffled a retch. The stitches keeping Gavin’s chest and stomach closed had been removed, one again revealing his guts. His heart was pounding wildly, his esophagus and trachea flared wildly, and he swore his stomach and intestines were shaking. “Okay, Ryan, I knew you were fucked up, but couldn’t you have put him under or something _before_ you started digging around in his guts?”

Ryan glanced up. “Hi, Michael.”

“Don’t ‘hi Michael’ me! What the fuck are you _doing?!_ I thought you said you were just giving him a goddamn _checkup,_ not a fucking _autopsy!_ ”

“Yeah, I checked Gavin over, and I saw something in his stomach. I’m just gonna get it out.”

“Okay, now _that_ I sort of understand _._ What I’m asking is _why_ didn’t you put the poor fuck to sleep _before_ cutting him open?”

“Oh, _that._ ”

“Yeah, _that._ ”

“He was gonna stick a needle in me, Michael!” Gavin whined.

“Seriously? _That’s_ why you’re still awake?!” He smacked Gavin’s arm. “You dumb fuck! Wouldn’t you rather _sleep_ through this shit?! Jesus fucking Christ, Gavin!”

“But the effing _needle,_ Michael!”

“But the fucking _scalpel,_ Gavin!” Michael mocked.

“Can you two cut it out? I’m trying to concentrate.” Ryan looked up at Michael, and his mask shifted slightly. Maybe he was scowling. “I’m gonna fuck something up if you keep talking.”

“All right, fine, I’ll shut up.” Michael shoved his hands in his pockets. “Asshole.”

“Well, if you’re gonna be down here, would you mind helping me out?”

“Whoa, whoa, _whoa!”_ Michael backed away from the scientist and stared at him in alarm. “I am _not_ shoving my hands in anything, you got that?”

“For the last fucking time, _nothing_ will be shoved _anywhere!_ Jesus! I just want you to get some cloths from the table next to the machines! Nothing else, I promise!”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“Good. Sheesh.” Ryan shook his head and went back to what he was doing.

Michael wandered over to the table with all the machines on it and started looking for the cloths. He saw piles of wires, heaps of scrap metal, a set of hubcaps and the spidery defibrillator from before, but no cloths. “Are you _sure_ they’re over here?” he called.

“Yeah, I think so. Well…maybe they are. Just keep looking!”

“Thanks, Ryan. That makes this _so_ much easier,” Michael grumbled, but he continued looking anyway. He moved away from the machine parts and circled some of the other tables. He finally found a small pile of what looked like white dishcloths lying on a table next to the door leading to the Hole. “Got ‘em!” Michael yelled. “And guess what? They were _nowhere_ near where you said they were!”

“At least you found them,” said Ryan.

“Yeah, but it took fucking _forever!_ ” Michael scooped up the cloths and walked back to the corner table.

“It wasn’t even five minutes! It wasn’t even _three_!”

“No, seriously, I feel like I’ve been doing this for, like, a billion years.”

“Now you’re just exaggerating.”

“Also, do you think you could, I don’t know, get some fucking labels or something down here? I don’t know where anything is!”

“Why would I do that? I’m the only one who bothers to…” He trailed off. “Holy fucking _shit,_ Gavin!”

“What? What’s wrong? Oh God!”

“This is…holy fuck, no _wonder_ you feel so fucking bad! Jesus _Christ!_ ”

“What the fuck’s going on?” Michael ran towards the table, arms wrapped around the cloths. “Is he dying? Knocked up? A fucking pussy? The fuck’s _wrong?_ ”

Ryan was now up to his forearms in the sewn-together undead’s midriff, blood staining his hands and forearms bright scarlet. By this point, Gavin had fainted; his head lolled against the table and the tips of his fingers brushed the floor. The scientist held what looked like a metal ice cream scoop in his right hand and was bringing it out of Gavin’s insides. Several silvery rocks rested in the scoop. Ryan swore loudly and lifted the scoop up to examine it further.

“Jesus, Geoff told me you guys drunk poison, but I didn’t think you guys would be dumb enough to drink _this_ shit.”

“What is that? Silver?”

“No, it’s fucking arsenic.”

Michael waited for the other shoe to drop, but the scientist said nothing else. “So…is it really arsenic?”

Ryan stared at him. “I… _literally_ just said it was.”

“Oh, cause I thought…you know what, never mind.”

“Seriously, though, fucking _arsenic?!_ I’m surprised you guys aren’t dead…again.” Ryan dumped the scoop into a nearby dish and stood up straight. “Fuck, this is going to take longer than I thought it was. Can you give me one of those cloths?”

“Sure.” Michael tossed the cloth on the top of the stack to him.

“Thanks.” Ryan wiped the sweat off his forehead and neck and went straight back to work.

They were silent for a long time while Ryan dug around in Gavin’s innards. Michael toyed with the remaining cloths and thought about what he was going to say to Ryan. He wondered if he even _dared_ to say anything to Ryan. _‘How do I even start **that**_ _fucking conversation? “Hey, Ryan, you made a deal with a demon, right? The fuck did you do?” He’d fucking flip his shit, and I do **not** want to see what that looks like.’_

Then Ryan surprised him by speaking first. “So…what exactly did you want to talk about, Michael?”

The undead bit his lip and looked down at the cloths. “Um…can we _not_ talk about his when you’re elbow deep in British twink?”

“Why not? I’m not gonna hurt him.”

“Didn’t you say you’d lose your concentration if I talked to you?”

“No, I said I’d lose my concentration if you and Gavin started arguing.” Ryan gestured to Gavin’s face with his bloodstained left hand. “Not so much of a problem now, is it?”

Michael watched as Ryan pulled out another scoop of arsenic and dumped it into the dish. “It’s just…I want…no, I _need_ to have your full attention.”

“Well, _that’s_ fucking ominous.”

“It should be. This is serious shit I’m talking about, Ry-Bread.” Michael stopped playing with the cloths and leaned back against the table. “Stuff we talked about before.”

“Is, uh, is this about you threatening me?”

“Did I threaten you?”

“You did, yeah.”

“Huh. Anyway, doesn’t matter. I’m not saying anything until you’re done.”

“Aw, but I wanna know!”

“Finish with Gavin first. Then we’ll talk.”

Ryan made a frustrated sound, but did not pursue the point further. He turned back to Gavin and resumed cleaning out the arsenic. Michael took out his phone and checked to see if he had any more messages from Ray. He didn’t, so he went into his contacts and added the unknown number as “Wolfman” and changed Ryan’s from the boring “Ryan Haywood” to the more accurate “Ryan the Insane Scientist Guy”.

“I might end up having to exsanguinate him after all,” he heard Ryan muse, “but I don’t know if I have any more of the right blood type…dammit.”

“Does ‘exsanguinate’ mean what I think it means?” Michael asked. He tucked the phone back into his pocket and stared at Ryan.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What you think it means.”

“Does it mean you’re going to drain all of Gavin’s blood?”

“Yup.”

“You’re seriously fucked up.”

“Wha – I just want to make sure the arsenic doesn’t do any lasting damage! Fuck, at this point, I’m not even sure if _any_ of his organs are okay!”

“If he was walking and talking, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“That’s the thing - arsenic can take a long time to take effect, mostly because it depends on the accumi… _accumulation._ I’d rather get it all out now while it’s still just rocks in his stomach than leave it and risk him keeling over later.”

“Why bother, though? You don’t even _like_ him.”

Ryan was silent for quite some time after that. “…I care,” he finally said, so quietly Michael almost didn’t catch it.

“Yeah, and _why_ do you care, huh? Do you care because he’s a person, or do you care because he’s your first successful reanimation?”

“Um…can I say both?”

“Uh…”

“Both, then.”

“Bullshit! You do _not_ give a shit about Gavin fucking Free.”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be up to my elbow in guts and working my ass off to get tiny fucking particles of arsenic out of his stomach.” Ryan dumped a third scoop of arsenic into the dish and straightened. “I’m not gonna say I’m a particularly _good_ guy-”

“Good, because you’re _not._ ”

“-but I’d _like_ to think I’m _nice,_ at the very least.”

“Name _one_ nice thing you’ve done.”

Ryan turned to look at Michael, who couldn’t help but shudder at how… _soulless_ Ryan looked with fucking black goggle eyes and a surgical mask. “Did you _seriously_ just ask me that?”

“Um…which answer won’t get me fucking killed?”

“You want to know _one_ nice thing I’ve done, Michael? _One_ nice thing? _I_ took _you_ into my house, even though I knew _nothing_ about you. I coulda told Geoff to fuck off and slammed the door in his face, but I _didn’t_. I coulda tossed you out onto the street the moment you started badmouthing me, but _I didn’t_. _There’s_ one nice thing I’ve done.” Ryan tossed the scoop into a nearby tureen, but the violence of the throw upended it and sent both items crashing to the floor. He huffed and turned back to Gavin. “Satisfied?”

“…Not entirely. For all I know, you could’ve been trying to keep your precious contract with Geoff safe.”

“I don’t-”

“Don’t bother lying, Ryan. Geoff told me you guys made a contract three years ago.”

For a moment, it was like time had frozen. The words hung between the undead and the scientist, the truth burning both of them like a firebrand. There was a silence so thick that not even the hum of the lightning machine could break it. Michael still leaned against the table, and Ryan was still working on Gavin. They sat there, still as statues, each waiting for something to happen.

One of Ryan’s bloodied hands went to grip the table, but Michael could see that his fingers were trembling violently. “…huh,” he finally said. “Is that…so. Huh.”

There was no going back. Michael was either going to get his answers, or he was going to die trying. Or, at least, be tortured by a mad scientist trying. “Finish up with Gav. Then we’ll talk.”


	20. Soul Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael finally learns why Ryan is a creepy secluded asshole. It’s not even close to what he guessed before.

After Michael’s final statement on the matter, Ryan finished his gristly work in total silence. Michael sat back and used the rhythmic hum of the lightning machine to count the passage of time. Fifty hums passed by the time Ryan finished digging around in the sewn-together undead’s insides. He swapped out his bloodied gloves for a fresh pair, and fished the familiar spool of black thread and surgical needle from his ubiquitous pockets.

Thirty more hums passed, then seventy more after that, then sixty after that, and still Ryan remained bent over Gavin. The undead tapped his foot in an impatient staccato on the concrete floor, but the scientist took no notice of it. He hummed to himself and continued to stitch his greatest creation back together.

Two hundred hums later, it looked like the scientist had finally finished with Gavin. He knotted the thread, snapped it off, and reached into his pocket once again. The syringe he pulled out was much smaller than the one he’d previously threatened Gavin with, but it looked to be filled with the same clear liquid. He thwacked it once or twice with his index and middle finger before pulling Gavin’s good arm toward him and sticking it right into his elbow.

It was this that caused Michael to break the silence. “Can I ask a question?”

A minute passed before Ryan paused and looked at him. “What?”

“Why the hell did you _just_ put Gav down? Shouldn’t you do that _before_ you cut him open, and, uh, _not_ after you finish sewing him up?”

The scientist pulled the half empty syringe out of Gavin’s arm and set it aside. “If…we’re going to talk about this…I’d rather not be interrupted.”

“So you’re just gonna pump him full of drugs instead of…y’know…asking him to fuck off?”

He shrugged. “Easier this way.”

“Seriously, you’re fucking _weird._ ”

Ryan didn’t respond to this. Instead, he leaned down and retrieved the same black tarp that had covered Gavin back when he was still a stiff. The scientist shook it out and tucked it around the sewn-together undead, much like a parent would tuck a child in at night. He even went so far as to slip the unused cloths under his head in place of a pillow. Once he was done with that, he stepped back and slowly peeled off the second pair of gloves.

“Okay, so…since you’re done now…can we talk? Or are you gonna find an excuse to bail on me like a fucking pussy?” Michael asked.

The scientist let out a breath and took off his goggles and mask. He set them down beside the used needle and turned to face Michael. For the first time since Michael had met him, Ryan looked like complete and utter shit. His hair had fallen down over his forehead, his beard looked like it hadn’t been shaved in a week, his clothes were wrinkly, and his skin was a little too pale, even for him. Most telling of all were his eyes. The whites were bloodshot and dark purple circles traced the bottoms of his eyelids. What the hell had happened to him? Had he always looked like this?

“Where would I run to?” he asked. “Where could I _possibly_ go? Geoff can do his nether shit and, hell, if _you_ wanted out, you could break down the fucking door. I’ve seen what your strength can do. I…I’ve got _none_ of that. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m just…human.” Ryan took off his glasses, turned them around in his hands and studied the marks on the lenses. “Sure, I’m a scientist and shit, but I’m still just a normal guy.”

“A normal guy who made a contract with a demon, hides in a dingy hole and keeps monsters as pets?” Michael raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, _totally_ fucking normal.”

The scientist sighed deeply and closed his eyes. “When you put it like that…I suppose…it _does_ sound…weird.” He let his glasses dangle precariously from his fingertips, and leaned back so his face pointed toward the ceiling. “I will admit, part of me enjoys this a lot, but…”

“What part is that? The fucked up part? The serial killer part?” Michael crossed his arms and scowled. “And what does this melodramatic shit have to do with your fucking contract, anyway?”

“It has everything to do with it.” Ryan looked back at Michael and slid his glasses onto his face.

“Really?” Michael blinked dumbly. “… _How?_ Did you asked to be a psycho scientist who lives in a hole or something?”

“Not…directly? I mean, this,” Ryan gestured to his lab, “ _did_ come to be because of the deal, but not because I asked for it. It was kinda like dominoes, you know? And before you ask, no, I’m not talking about the pizza place.”

“Ryan! How can you think so _little_ of me?” Michael blinked rapidly and put his hand over his heart in mock offense. “I’m _smarter_ than that! I played with dominoes as a kid!”

“…Sometimes I wonder…” Ryan shook his head. “Anyway, no, I didn’t make a deal to get my setup.”

“Then what _did_ you make it for?” Michael pressed.

The scientist bit his lip. “Let’s…let’s just say that one day…I decided to…bend the rules, so to speak. I got away with it for a while, but…well…I flew too close to the sun.”

Michael nodded. “Vague as hell, but I’m following you so far.”

“It was fucking dumb, and by doing it I put not only myself but a whole lot of other people in danger. It was… _bad_.” Ryan winced and put his hands in his pockets.

“So…you made the deal with Geoff because…?”

“The only way to fix the situation was for me to disappear, and not just Hollywood hacker _Dark Knight Rises_ bullshit disappear, but _completely_ and _totally_ disappear.” Ryan stared Michael directly in the eyes and went almost perfectly still. “Basically, I had to have never existed.”

Michael licked his lips and looked away from the scientist’s unblinking gaze. “Jesus, what did you _do?_ ”

“Listen, I’m uncomfortable enough _already._ Let’s not elaborate on my past failures as a human being, okay?” The sudden harshness in Ryan’s voice made Michael take a step back.

“Okay, fine, whatever. So you needed to…not exist?”

“Sort of. However, that sort of erasure is really fucking hard to do nowadays. I mean, nothing can _ever_ die on the Internet, not as long as even _one_ person is watching. It wouldn’t matter if I created the most effective virus known to mankind – a virus so awesome and complex nobody could stop it – as long as someone somewhere had that information stored away on paper or hard drive or fucking stone tablets or whatever, I could still be found out.”

“So you made a deal with Geoff to get rid of all your dirty secrets?” Michael asked dubiously.

“…Not…quite. When I summoned him, I told him that I needed to disappear. He asked why I didn’t just do it myself, and I told him about what happened.”

“I wish you’d _just_ say-”

“I don’t wanna!”

“But if you’d _just-”_

“No!”

“Fine! Sheesh.”

“Anyway, Geoff seemed…well, at first he actually seemed kind of impressed, and then he offered me a deal. He’d use his magic to make it…well, basically, like I never existed. My work never happened, my…mistake was never made, and the rest of that shit.”

“Yeah, I’m sensing a big ‘but’ here,” said Michael.

“You think?” The scientist sank down to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees. He suddenly looked like a lost little boy, and Michael couldn’t help but feel bad for him. “It was…he basically erased me from _everywhere._ My friends never met me, my old girlfriends never fell for me, there’s no record of me ever being in school or having a job, or even being _born_ …” He took a deep breath and rested his chin in between his knees. “My parents…my parents think they never _were_ parents.”

Michael was speechless. _That_ was Ryan’s deal? To have everyone else forget he ever existed? How could _anything_ be worth that? Jesus, no _wonder_ he’d gone insane; just the thought of everyone he ever knew and loved never even knowing he existed would be enough to drive him over the edge! _‘And he **accepted** it…he’d rather be completely alone than in whatever shit he was in before. Fuck, I’d rather be in fucking **jail**! At least you know the people on the outside still love you…’_

He was brought out of his reverie by a weak chuckle. “It’s…it’s kinda funny, huh?”

He stared incredulously at the scientist. “No, it’s fucking depressing as hell.”

Ryan looked up at Michael. A small smirk lifted the edge of his mouth for a moment or two. “No, I mean…we’re almost exact opposites, you and I. You’d give anything to remember everything…and I gave up everything to have people forget me.” He turned his gaze toward his shoelaces and gripped the fabric of his jeans a little tighter. “But…yeah, it’s fucking depressing, too.”

Michael hadn’t considered this. What a sick and cruel irony it was though; he desperately wanted to remember everything about his friends and family and life, even if he couldn’t see them again, while Ryan had given up…whatever he’d given up to make them all forget, so that even if he did see them again, it wouldn’t matter. He supposed it was like looking into a mirror. On one side, the man who wanted to remember but couldn’t, and on the other, the man who wanted to _be_ remembered, but wouldn’t. Either way, both were completely fucking miserable.

_‘God, this sucks.’_ He walked forward and sat next to the scientist. Then, in a spur of the moment decision, he put his arm around Ryan’s shoulders. In hindsight, this probably wasn’t as comforting as it could have been, considering his skin was icy cold, but Ryan didn’t seem to mind. “…We are some sad sacks of shit, aren’t we?”

“Yup,” Ryan agreed.

Michael let his arm rest for a couple more seconds before removing it. He crossed his legs and placed his hands in his lap, and then he looked at Ryan expectantly. “…so…”

“So…”

“This… _deal._ You had to give something up to get it, right?”

“Yeah. Equivalent Exchange.”

Michael blinked. “…Wait, have you seen that show?”

“What, _Fullmetal Alchemist?_ Of course I have, it’s one of my favorites.”

“It would be, what with your mad science shtick.” Michael leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “Never took _you_ for the anime type.”

“A lot of people don’t. Guess I don’t fit the stereotype.”

Michael snorted. “You look like someone’s dad.”

Ryan jerked slightly, but said nothing.

“So, original or _Brotherhood?_ ”

“Original, definitely.”

“Are you serious? _Brotherhood_ follows the manga so much better!”

“The manga was practically in its infancy when the original anime was made. Considering how little of the source material they had, I’m amazed they were able to make their own story out of it, _and_ have that story be good.” Ryan looked over at Michael. “To be honest, I like it even better than the manga’s story.”

Michael’s jaw dropped. “…You did _not_ just say that.”

“Oh yes I did. It’s better than the manga. There, I said it again.”

“You didn’t think it was… _weird?_ I mean, with the religion crap and the homunculi and-”

“It made _sense,_ though, maybe even _more_ sense than the manga. And besides, the manga got weirdly religious, too. The whole thing with Father wanting to attack God and the controversy about Greed being crucified…that was even _weirder._ ”

“I guess you make a valid argument.” Michael laughed and shook his head. “How did this turn into an argument about _FMA,_ exactly?”

“Equivalent Exchange.”

He nodded. “Yeah that’s right. ‘To obtain-’”

“‘-Something of equal value must be lost,’” Ryan finished.

They were quiet for a moment. “So…to get… _that…_ what did you have to lose?”

Ryan straightened out his legs and played with a wrinkle on his jeans. “Surprisingly, not much.”

“Considering what you bargained for, I’d say that’s debatable.”

“Fair point.” Ryan let out a laugh, but quickly sank back into melancholy. He sighed deeply and looked at his hands. For a long moment, he stared at his palms and remained silent, and Michael wondered what on earth he could have traded to have everyone and everything in the world forget him. Finally, Ryan took a deep breath and said, “I…had to give Geoff…half of my soul.”

Michael jerked as if he had been electrocuted. He leaped up and stared at the scientist incredulously. “You…you gave him _half_ your soul? But…I thought souls were indivisible, or some shit like that! Isn’t it _impossible_ to split a soul?”

“Not for a demon, it isn’t. Apparently, since the magic was so utterly complete, it was…well, _Geoff_ said it was pretty easy, so it wouldn’t need my entire soul as payment. Then he just…halved it.” He took his glasses off again and rubbed his eyes, cheeks and chin. “Man… _that’s_ a memory.”

Michael sat back down, only this time he was in front of the scientist and not beside him. He glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes and asked, “Did it…hurt?”

The scientist laughed one humorless, bitter laugh. “Imagine everything you _are,_ everything you _were,_ everything you _could be,_ all your memories, morals, emotions and so on…everything that makes _you…_ imagine _that…_ all of _that…_ being torn in half like it was a fucking sheet of paper.” His eyes widened slightly and what color there was left in his face drained from it. “Except for some reason the paper’s super tough and it takes fucking forever, and you can fucking _feel_ every fiber rip and break away.” Ryan put a hand over his heart and closed his eyes. “…Oh yeah. It fucking _hurt._ It hurt so much I thought I was gonna _die._ ”

Michael tried to imagine what that would look or feel like, but came up with nothing. He supposed it was the sort of thing he’d have to experience himself to really know. And, judging by the look on Ryan’s face, he _really_ didn’t want to know.

“Okay, so it hurt like all hell to lose half your soul. Does it hurt now?”

“Nah.”

“Do you notice anything…different?”

“I didn’t. Well, not at first.” The scientist pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his pants. “You know anything about souls?”

“Uh…no? I mean, mine’s bound to me by the sigil, and that’s why I’m a walking dead guy, and apparently they _can_ be split. Um, and there’s the, um…look, it’s been a _long_ time since I went to church, and I didn’t exactly pay attention in Sunday school.” Ryan raised an eyebrow. “What? My parents were Catholic.”

“…I see…” The scientist headed for the table directly across from Gavin’s and picked up his tablet. He tapped around on it for a little while, and a screen nearby went from showing diagnostics to an empty Word document.

Michael stood up and walked over to him. “So something _definitely_ changed when you lost half your soul, right?”

“Yeah. Gimme a second…” Ryan doodled on the tablet for a minute, and the corresponding screen echoed his movements. A wobbly circle slowly scribed itself on the screen. “Dammit, I’m _so_ bad at circles,” the scientist complained. “Hold on, I got it.” The circle wobbled to completion on the TV screen. It looked more like a really fucked up egg than a circle, in Michael’s opinion, but he decided not to comment. “Okay, so, let’s say…this is a soul.”

“Shitty ass soul you got there, Ryan.”

“Hey, shut up, I tried. Okay, so…” The scientist drew an arrow pointing toward the attempted circle. “Souls are, as you know, primarily…sort of…a life force…thing.” He wrote ‘life force’ at the tail end of the arrow.

Michael nodded. “S’why I have the sigil on my back.”

“Right. Souls, though, are also…where…emotions…come from.” As he spoke, he drew another arrow and titled it ‘emotions’. “Well, the _brain_ controls them, but the source is the soul.”

“Got it.”

“Then…it’s also where….well, it’s where your sense of right and wrong come from, too.” The scientist drew another arrow and labeled it ‘morality’. “Then there’s personality…reasoning…and I _think_ that’s it? Yeah, that’s about it.” The wobbly circle now had five arrows pointing to it: life force, emotions, morality, personality, and reasoning.

“Didn’t you say memories were a part of it, too?”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Hold on.” He quickly drew a sixth arrow and labeled it ‘memory’. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, whatever, what’s the point of this again?”

“The point is to have a visual aid so it’s easier for me to explain this.”

“So explain.”

Ryan sighed. “…Okay, so, I’ve lost half my soul.” He drew a zigzagging line down the middle of the circle and filled in the right half. “That means that all these,” he bolded the arrows, “Have changed somewhat.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Well, I mean, Geoff didn’t exactly give me a brochure on what to expect when you lose half your soul. Would’ve been useful, but no, I’ve had to figure this out myself. I’m _still_ not sure what all’s changed.”

“What?! But it’s been three fucking years!”

“Look, it’s hard to…know…yourself…that well. Even though I _knew_ something was different, I didn’t figure out _what_ for a long fucking time. It…felt… _feels…_ like…like when you travel, and you just _know_ you’ve left something behind at the fucking hotel, but you never know what _it_ is…it just… _nags_ at you, ‘cause you know something’s wrong but you just _can’t_ put your finger on it…it’s like that.” He swallowed and turned his attention back to the tablet. “Anyway, what I _do_ know is that my emotions are definitely…not right.” He changed the color of the pen from black to purple and circled the word ‘emotion’. “I don’t… _react…_ like a normal person should to…certain…things.”

“You still get sad and shit, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, but there _are_ times when I should feel one thing, but I feel something else, or I feel nothing. I don’t notice it, but Jack and Geoff have. They were, uh, more than happy to inform me about everything that’s…changed.”

“You _are_ kind of a fucking lunatic.”

“Which leads me to the most obvious loss.” Ryan changed the pen color to red and circled morals. “ _These…_ are almost completely gone.” He drew a slash through the circle.

“Wait, hold the fuck up!” Michael held up his hands. “Are you saying _this_ is why you’re a fucking mad scientist?!”

“It certainly helps,” said Ryan. “I mean, I was doing these sort of experiments before, I just have less…reservations.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“It _means…_ well, think about it! If someone handed you a knife and said ‘Hey, could you cut up this dead body?’ would you do it?”

“Hell no! That’s…Jesus fucking _Christ!_ ”

“See? You’re disgusted, right? That’s ‘normal’ for the average person. I…as you, uh, probably noticed…couldn’t give less of a shit. It’s not that I don’t _know_ it’s wrong, I just don’t…I guess I just don’t care. I go against everything we’ve established as morally right and wrong. I’ve resurrected the dead and combined animals to make new ones, and I never gave a fuck about rules or morals or shit. I don’t have the nagging doubt or the little voice in the back of my head that stops most people. I am…we’ll call it ‘morally peculiar’.”

“Most people call that ‘bat-shit insane,’ Ryan.”

“I know.” Ryan bit his lip and drew a blue circle around ‘life force’. “Life force...life force is sort of weird. I'm not a hundred percent sure about that one.”

“How are you not sure? You're not a fucking stiff like me and Gav.”

“I don't really feel any different, but...hold on..." Ryan drew some squiggly lines around the white half of the eggy circle. "This was the _one_ thing Geoff bothered to explain to me, just have to remember...how to... _phrase..._ it. Okay...so...souls aren't _meant_ to be split, so when they are...they sort of... _bleed._ ”

“The... _fuck?_ What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?!”

“It's not serious-”

“It _sounds_ pretty fucking serious! Fucking _bleeding_ is generally a huge fucking deal!”

“Uh...yeah, I guess it is.”

"So...what does that _mean?_ "

"Uh...think about it like this. Sharks can detect blood in the sea even if they're miles away, right?"

"Right..."

"Supernatural creatures are a sort of like that, but with souls instead of blood. Well, I guess blood too, but souls as well. Um, anyway, they're a little more... _disposed_ to attack someone whose soul's been split, 'cause...I _think_ Geoff says it indicates…a weakness. Plus apparently it makes them feel good.” The scientist grimaced. “The first year after I made the deal I was running all over the goddamn place, mostly because everything in the fucking world was trying to kill me.”

“Is that why you live in a hole?”

“It’s one reason, yeah. Nice and defensible.”

“What’s the other reason?”

Ryan exited from the document and sat his tablet back down. “…the magic Geoff used to wipe me from existence…isn’t exactly…um, infallible.”

“Infallible?”

“If my face and name start going around…and I get too… _out there_ …the magic could fail.”

“And everyone will remember you?”

Ryan’s face darkened. “And what I did, too.”

Michael digested the enormity of what the scientist had told him. A deal to hide in complete obscurity, paid for with half a soul, and this was why he lived in a hole and cut up bodies for a living, without puking or checking himself into a mental hospital. It was an awful lot to process in such a short amount of time.

Eventually, the undead had formulated enough to speak again. “Thinking back on the whole opposites thing…I gotta ask you one last question.”

“Yo.”

“Would you want to forget it all? Just let it all go to Hell and start a new life somewhere as Average McFuck-All and be at peace?”

“Hmm….” Ryan pursed his lips, squinted his eyes almost shut and looked up at the ceiling. He shifted around and clicked his tongue a couple of times before looking back at Michael. “Nah.”

“Why not? It sucks, doesn’t it?” Michael pressed.

“Well, yeah, of course it does, but I was willing to do it, so I might as well remember it. I mean, it’s all I have left now. Why would I want to give it up? It’s as much a part of me as my fucking arm, or my eyes. Fuck, it took part of me to fucking _do_ it in the first place! And…and…” Realization slowly dawned on the scientist’s face; his eyes narrowed and he took a step back. “…and you’re just asking me this so you can convince Geoff to give you your memory back.” His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to age right before Michael’s eyes. “You don’t… _actually_ …give a shit about me…do you.”

“What? No, I…okay, so _maybe_ I wanted that at first, but I’m not some fucking dickhead who uses people to get what they want. I’m better than that!”

“You were thinking it, though.”

“No-but-fuck…look…shit, I have no fucking clue how to explain this.” Michael ran a hand through his curls and let out a frustrated breath. “Okay, so I asked you all those questions because I want to convince Geoff to give me my memories back, but that _doesn’t_ mean I don’t give a shit. I fucking care, all right? You went through shit, and that’s fucking awful, but-”

“You think that makes it okay?” Ryan interrupted. “You think saying ‘yeah I used you but I feel so _bad_ about it!’ makes it okay? Cause it’s _not!_ I’m not some…some…fucking stepstool or bridge or…you can’t just…I’m not something you can use to get what you want. I’m not a fucking means to an end.” The scientist’s eyes flashed dangerously and his face darkened. “I don’t appreciate you stepping all over me.”

“I’m not stepping on you! Jesus fucking Christ, Ryan, if I’d been fucking _using_ you, I wouldn’t have fucking _told_ you about it! Fucking Christ, we’re in the same goddamn boat! We both got fucked in the anus by a fiery demon cock, and we’re both still fucking reeling!”

Ryan grimaced. “Why…the fuck…did you have to put it like _that?_ ”

“You know it’s true.”

“Sure, but _still…_ ”

“Ryan, _you_ yourself said that we’re opposites, right? You might be stuck in a godawful hole and feel like you’ve been through the shitter, but at least you _remember_ when things were good. You still _remember_ when everybody loved you, even if they don’t anymore.” Ryan bit his lip and looked away. Michael saw this as a point to his advantage and continued. “No matter how bad it hurts now, you wouldn’t trade it for the whole fucking world. I…I don’t even have _that_ much. I’m just a lonely, undead fuck with nothing but the clothes on my back, a few lousy bits and pieces of memories, and one werewolf friend. Even if it means I’m fucking miserable, even if it makes my crappy life a fucking nightmare, I want _something_ to hold on to. I want to know…I want to know who the fuck I’m supposed to _be._ ”

The scientist considered this for several long minutes. Michael held his breath, not that it did him any good or ill. “I… _can’t_ …help you…at least…not with Geoff. However,” he said, just as Michael was opening his mouth to complain, “there is, uh, _something…_ I can do.” He walked over to his computers, sat down and started typing. Something beneath a pile of mechanical parts whirred and hummed to life. Michael, who had since stopped being startled by sudden noises, pushed the wires and crap off the source of the noise, which turned out to be a printer. Several pages of text lay in the tray, and more were being printed as he watched. There were color pictures, more text documents, and then a picture of his own face landed in the tray. The undead blinked and looked over at Ryan.

“The fuck _is_ all this?”

“I told you before I looked you up, right? This is everything I found on you, both legally and, um, not. Police files, certificates, newspaper articles, pictures…should all be there.”

“Are you serious?” He pulled the top page off the stack and looked at it. “Why did you change your mind?”

Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I mean, I _may_ be a mad scientist…but I’m not completely heartless.”

Michael smirked at him. “Wow, uh…thanks, Ry-Bread.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

Meanwhile, the pages were still sliding into the print tray. “Jesus, man, how much _is_ there?!”

“I told you, it’s everything I found! Which was…well, a _lot._ ”

“No shit! My fucking _teachers_ never gave me this much homework, Ryan!”

“You wanted information! This is all the information I have! Take it or leave it.”

“I’m gonna take it, Ryan! Calm down.”

Ten minutes and a ream of paper later, the printer finally quieted. A stack of paper at least one inch thick sat in the printer tray. Michael collected it and thumbed through it. Text documents, photocopies, articles…Ryan had certainly delivered. “Fuck, there’s enough here to keep me busy until next week!”

“Uh…”

“That’s a _good_ thing, Ryan.”

“Okay. Good. I can’t tell sometimes.”

Just then, a groan sounded from nearby. They both started and looked over to where the tarp-covered undead was now stirring. “Bloody hell…I feel a _right_ mess…”

Ryan sighed. “Guess it’s back to working on this stupid fuck again.” He pushed himself out of his chair, dusted himself off and walked back toward the table.

Michael made for the door, but paused as a thought came to him. “Ryan, one last question, surprise, follow-up question – why can _we_ remember you, and does it affect your ‘deal’?”

“You came after it, and I don’t think so,” said Ryan. “I don’t think Geoff would’ve brought you here if that would harm anything.”

“He’s a demon. Why the fuck would he care?”

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve, um, noticed or not, but, uh, Geoff’s…not a very good demon.”

Michael snorted. “Yeah, no shit.” He straightened his pile of papers and walked toward the exit. No need to hang around now that he had what he wanted. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to witness any more of Ryan ‘treating’ Gavin, no matter how much the Brit squawked and squealed about it.

He mounted the stairs two at a time and elbowed the button for the door. He was through it and in the kitchen before it was even halfway open. Jack was still watching TV in the living room, though he looked away when Michael walked in. “Um…I guess your talk with Ryan went well, then?”

“Oh yeah, he told me his fucking sob story.” Michael shook his head. “I still don’t know what the fuck he did, but I’m not sure I _want_ to know.”

“I don’t either. Geoff says it creeped _him_ out, and apparently he doesn’t creep easily.” Jack shrugged. “I just assume it was bad.”

“Bad enough he fucking wiped himself off the face of the planet.”

Jack’s eyes flicked down to the pile of papers Michael was clutching. “Whatcha got there?”

“Ryan gave me everything he found on…me. I’m gonna do some reading, motherfucker.”

The swamp monster raised an eyebrow. “Did he? Um…he _knows_ Geoff’s not gonna be pleased about that, right?”

“Probably doesn’t give a shit. Must be those messed up morals he was talking about.”

“Messed up morals aren’t gonna save him from demon magic.”

“Nope.” Michael walked to the stairs. “Gonna go read now. Have fun watching the news.”

“Bye.”

He finally stopped when he was back in the guest room…well, he guessed it was _his_ room now. He’d certainly been here long enough. Michael sat down on the bed, switched on the dusty bedside lamp for the first time, and thumbed through the papers. A set of color photographs drew his eye, so he pulled them out and put the rest of the shit aside. Then he held the first page close to the light.

Six bullet casings rested on a stretch of dirty sidewalk next to a plastic yellow number three. He pulled up the next picture. The same stretch of dirty sidewalk greeted him, though instead of casings, a pair of plastic rimmed glasses sat on the stained cement. Its left leg was bent almost to the point of snapping, and the lens had shattered into a spider web of cracks and fragments. He swallowed and flipped to the next picture. This one made his throat seize and sent tremors down his spine. Several plastic numbers sat around a tape outline of a body. Half of it rested on the sidewalk, while the other half lay in the gutter. Blood stained the cement red, completely covering the area where the head and torso had laid and ran down the gutter until the picture’s frame cut it off. _‘Fuck…these are crime scene photos of my goddamn murder! Shit.’_ He absentmindedly rubbed his collarbone, where the closest bullet scar was, and set the photos aside for now.

The page on top of the pile was a photocopy of an official document. It was titled “Report By Medical Examiner” and had several lines of scribbled writing, and a diagram of a human body. Several dots had been drawn on the face and torso with more scribbles next to them, and Michael squinted to read the comments.

“Minor laceration to skin around left eye.”

“Bullet entered shoulder, embedded in left clavicle.”

“Two bullets entered right pectoral. One shattered right fifth rib and exited through lower back. One entered right lung and embedded in right twelfth floating rib.”

“Bullet entered left pectoral, severed superior vena cava, exited through right scapula.”

“Bullet entered lower stomach, pierced large intestine, small intestine, and stomach, embedded in diaphragm.”

Michael blinked. _‘Is this my autopsy report? Jesus, I got fucking **rekt.** Dude, for being a robbery, this guy sure fucked me the hell up!’ _He rubbed the bullet scars again and scanned the top of the document. His cause of death was listed as “Organ failure due to hypovolemic shock,” whatever that meant. Maybe he’d ask Ryan about that later.

The next set of papers were more pictures. The first of these featured a familiar, pale arm with a tattoo of the Gears of War symbol on the forearm. _His_ arm. He rubbed the same tattoo on his forearm and shuddered. His palm was flat on the table so his knuckles were fully displayed. His fingers were completely bruised and bloodied, from the primary knuckle all the way down to his nails. _‘Good. At least I went out fighting and not like a bitch. Sucks that I went out at all, though.’_

His torso was next in this set of photographs. Five puckered, bloody holes stood out in sharp relief against his deathly pale skin. A ruler had been set next to one of the holes near his right nipple. He didn’t really know why, as the bullet holes all appeared to be the same size, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He was still fucking dead.

The next picture was the eeriest so far. A close up shot of a cut on his face, right next to his lifeless, glassy left eye. A ruler had been set next to this wound, too, showing it to be about four inches long. He reached up and gingerly touched the area next to his eye, wondering if this wound had scarred, too, or if it had mysteriously healed like every wound he’d obtained in his unlife. Michael couldn’t look at the picture for too long; the milky, staring eye made him feel strangely ill. Nothing, not even his strange, undead eyes, could top the uneasiness his lifeless gaze gave him. That picture was thrown aside rather quickly. It fluttered to the ground and landed near the door.

Michael groaned and rubbed his temples. The words and pictures were swirling in his head, scratching at his brain like little claws. He tried to string them together, to make sense of the mess, but he couldn’t help but feel that a large piece was still missing, something to bind this all together and make him remember everything. Even so, something was struggling to surface like a bubble in a murky pond.

_A starry night…walking back…somebody laughed and grabbed his arm…_

_Someone was following them. Their footsteps gained speed. He tried to steer his companion away, but too late…_

_He chased after the man in the hood. He heard a crack. Something stung his face and shattered his glasses, but he ignored it. Lunging forward, he caught the man’s arm and tried to force him to the ground. His fists struck bony flesh, and his attacker’s arm was slowly forced down. In doing this, he inadvertently caused the man to pull the gun’s trigger._

_The sudden crackdeafened him. His guts twisted horribly, and wetness spread over his stomach, crotch and thighs. He staggered back and clutched at his front. The man in the hoodie jerked back as well. His entire body was shaking as he lifted the gun and pointed it at him._

**_Crack._ ** _Pain shot through his chest and down his arm. He left his stomach to paw at his shoulder. His stumbling feet moved back, found nothing but air, and he collapsed. His head cracked against the pavement, leaving him dazed. The hood loomed overhead. Through a veil of pain he saw the man’s arm come up again._

**_Crack._ ** _Pain flared in his back, and all the feeling left his legs. They sagged against the pavement, as limp and useless as two sacks of rice._

**_Crack._ ** _His chest suddenly felt lopsided, and he had trouble breathing. He choked on blood and reached out. Maybe he was trying to grasp the gun. Maybe he was begging for mercy. He didn’t know._

**_Crack._ ** _His heartbeat stuttered, and there was a sudden pressure building up beside the leaping muscle. Warmth spilled all over his front, but his arms and chest felt strangely cold. He gagged on blood and sagged into the pavement._

_The gun clicked, and the hood finally ran away, disappearing into the night. He couldn’t move. His legs didn’t feel like…anything anymore. One hand weakly clutched his stomach, while the other lay limply in the gutter. There was blood everywhere._ _Blood rose in his throat and spilled out of his mouth; blood spread steadily over his entire front; blood spilled down the curb and into the gutter. He couldn’t breathe. Darkness fell swiftly over his eyes and brain. His lips trembled, spelling a name he couldn’t remember. The pain left him, but so did everything else._

Michael choked and windmilled his arms. Papers were scattered everywhere, fluttering to the ground like large white leaves. He didn’t give two shits about them. Phantom blood welled in his throat, pooled in his chest, pressed against his lungs and stomach and bowels. He was drowning in blood that wasn’t there, fighting against an enemy that existed only in his mind. Stars and buildings danced in his eyes; the last memory of his true life; the horrid final moments as his life leaked out onto the reeking asphalt.

The undead staggered to his feet and lurched away from the bed. He was simultaneously in the run-down house and bleeding to death in an Austin alleyway, undead and dying, and panicking either way. Splinters bit into his hands, and he was aware of a creaky, echoing _crack._ Another gunshot? His fists cracked against something cold and hard. Fragments hit his arms and chest, pinging noisily around him. The phantom drowning finally surfaced in the worst way: he grasped whatever it was in front of him and vomited.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and exploded into the guestroom. “Jesus Christ, are you _okay?_ ” someone asked.

“Michael, my boi! What the toss is going on?” someone else cried.

He gagged on vomit while attempting to speak. “…blood…so much… _dying!_ ” he gasped. Then he retched and spat up more gore. His world spun, taunted by visions of scarlet staining white porcelain, scarlet dripping from his hands, scarlet spreading over his front…

Two sets of hands grasped his shoulders and steered him away. He struggled feebly, but yielded eventually and let himself be led away. Black spots, stars, tall buildings, vermillion blood; they danced in front of his eyes and distracted him from the present day. He puked again and heard an echoey splatter. Someone behind him also retched, and a set of hands released his shoulder.

“Really, Gavin? C’mon.” The hands on his right shoulder gripped him a little tighter. “Jesus.”

The voices didn’t register with Michael right away. He vomited until his stomach had nothing left inside of it. One of the hands on his shoulder moved to rub his back, soothing him while he emptied his guts. The image of blood and stars and darkness faded with every heave of his stomach. Piece by piece, little by little, he left the lonely alleyway and returned to the present world. He was kneeling in front of the aged toilet in the guest bathroom. The clear water had stinking brownish-amber liquid floating in it. Michael blinked dumbly and slouched against the cool porcelain. _‘Jesus…that stuff’s worse-looking coming up…than it is going down.’_

“You gonna be all right?” Michael wiped the tears out of his eyes and focused on who was holding his right shoulder. Jack stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder while the other rubbed his back. His fins were flared wide open and he was shaking slightly. “We heard you yelling from all the way downstairs. What the hell happened?”

Another figure loomed behind Jack. Michael leaned over and saw that Gavin had entered the bathroom. He looked just as sickly as Michael felt. “Sounds like last night did you right in, boi,” he said. His voice was unusually soft and kind.

“No,” Michael finally rasped. “It’s…not…no. I… _remembered._ ”

The others glanced at each other. “Remembered what?” Jack asked.

Michael let his forehead rest against the toilet seat. “...I remembered…remember… _dying._ ”

All was silent for a few moments. “Oh, God, you _do?_ ” Jack finally asked.

“But _how,_ Michael? You said you couldn’t!”

Michael shut his eyes and gripped the toilet bowl tightly. “Ryan…Ryan helped.”

“You mean those papers he gave you?” asked Jack.

“Yeah.” He breathed deeply, trying to steady the sudden vertigo that the memories had arisen. “God…it fucking…it fucking _sucked._ There was so much…there was so much fucking _blood._ ”

“Will…do you need any help? Maybe you should lie down.”

Michael slowly shook his head. “I don’t…fuck, I’m…shit.”

“C’mon, lean on us. We’ll get you to the bed.” The hands returned to his left shoulder, and they attempted to pull him to his feet. “Gavin, c’mon! Lift with your goddamn legs!”

“I’m lifting with my bloody legs! They don’t work right!”

“Yeah, _you_ don’t work right!”

“ _You_ don’t work right!”

“Wow, good comeback.”

Together, the swamp monster and the sewn-together undead dragged Michael out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. They sat him down on a corner of the bed and slowly eased him down onto the musty covers. He sagged into a limp, spread-eagled pile and pressed his face into the moldy quilt. The other two hurried from the room, possibly on an errand, or maybe just to let him sleep. For the moment, he didn’t give a shit.

His entire body ached with the memory of dying. Of all the things he had wanted to remember, dying was not one of them, and of all the memories he _had_ remembered so far, this one was the strongest and most poignant. Even now he could feel the blood spreading over his front, the darkness clouding his eyes, and the slow loss of sensation in every part of his mortal being. He’d been completely alone…hadn’t he?

_‘There was someone there,’_ he thought. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. _‘I remember…laughing…someone close to me…but who? Fuck, if there was someone there, why didn’t **they** do anything?’_

The thought was lost in a sea of blood and darkness as the memory crashed over him again, heralded by the sound that had been haunting him since the first dream so long ago.

Six echoing gunshots.


	21. Lads Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to get some fucking normalcy back in his life, Michael reconnects with an old friend…also known as Ray, the only old friend he has.

Michael ended up taking a nap after his violent flashback to his death. For once, he was glad his sleep was dreamless. The last thing he wanted to relive his death again, especially not while he was asleep.

When he woke up, he felt like complete and utter dog shit, but at least his mind was clear. He swallowed and grimaced at how rough his throat felt. _‘I didn’t fucking miss puking of all goddamn things. Why the hell can I still fucking **puke**?_

There was a soft knock on the door. Michael glared at it. “What?”

The door creaked open, and Jack poked his head in. “Just wanted to see if you’re okay. You were out for a while.”

Michael rubbed his eyes and blinked. “Uh…I’m not sure yet. I’m…still feeling…out of it.”

The swamp monster nodded and edged into the room. “Yeah, I figured. Is there anything we can do?”

“Not unless you…wait, _we?_ ”

“Well, yeah, Gavin’s pretty worried, too. Ryan would be, too, if, you know, he’d come out of his damn lab.”

The undead stood up and stretched. “Is he hiding or something?”

“I have no fucking idea. The day I understand Ryan is the day I’m able to live out of water forever.”

“So you’ll never understand Ryan, is what you’re saying.”

“Yup.”

Michael glanced around and groaned at the sight of all the papers scattered around on the floor. “Oh, fuck, look at this goddamn mess! Jesus fucking Christ, this is going to take _forever_ to clean up! Shit!” He angrily kicked one of the fallen papers and watched it flutter to the other side of the room.

“Um…do you need any help?” Jack offered.

“I’m good.” Michael bent over and scooped up the nearest paper. He straightened it out and glanced over it. It looked like a photocopy of a newspaper, and its headline proclaimed _JONES WIDOW RELEASED FROM POLICE CUSTODY._ He frowned and placed the paper on top of the stack. _‘Widow? Since when do I have a widow? Maybe they mean my mom? Fuck, I don’t know.’_

“You sure? There’s quite a mess in here.” Jack cast his eye around the room and let out a low whistle.

“It’s…kind of…personal.” Michael pulled the documents closer to his chest. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Jack – the swamp monster was probably the kindest and most harmless of the bunch – he just wasn’t comfortable sharing the most intimate details of his life with a guy he barely knew. Hell, he _still_ wasn’t terribly happy that Ryan had snooped around, though the blow was softened by the info he’d dished out.

The swamp monster nodded and turned back toward the door. “Okay. If you’re all right up here, I’m just gonna head back downstairs. You want anything from the kitchen, or…?”

“I’m good,” Michael repeated, and the swamp monster promptly departed. He sighed, and got to work.

It took Michael nearly ten minutes to gather up the scattered papers. Images of his living face and of his grieving friends and family swam before his eyes, even after the papers containing them were tucked back into his stack. Eventually, the last of the papers was picked up and put back, and Michael scowled at the disorganized pile. _‘Fuck, it’s gonna take **forever** to get that shit back in order. God fucking dammit.’_ He nearly threw the papers onto the bed, but decided against it. He was not going to clean that shit up again.

After gently placing the papers on the bed, he stretched and headed for the door. The house was strangely quiet, considering there was at least four men living in it, so Michael headed downstairs with a modicum of caution. The lights were on, but no-one was in the living room. He knew Jack was in the kitchen, but he thought Gavin would’ve been done by now. Maybe Ryan was trying to give him a third lung or a second dick or something. _‘God, I hope not.’_

Michael sighed and flopped onto the couch. He flipped through a hundred channels before deciding there was nothing worth his while on TV, and changed over to the Xbox. It took forever and a day for the box to connect to the Internet, so Michael pulled out his phone. A light was flashing at him, and, upon unlocking the phone, the phone informed him he had four new messages.

**Wolfman: yo you up for some halo?** (Sent 6:20 p.m.)

**Wolfman: not my first pick of games but I know ry has jack shit** (Sent 6:23 p.m.)

**Wolfman: you there?** (Sent 6:45 p.m.)

**Wolfman: Michael come on this isn’t funny** (Sent 6:53 p.m.)

Before Michael could reply the phone buzzed again, and another two messages appeared in the feed.

**Wolfman: are you ok?** (Sent 7:05 p.m.) **  
please answer me** (Sent 7:05 p.m.)

The words made Michael shiver. He abruptly thought back on the few pictures he’d seen of his funeral, and his imagination filled in the rest of the holes: people sobbing in the aisles, his flower-laden coffin, somber black suits and dresses and décor, melancholy organ music and eulogies that were invariably more to comfort the living than to honor the dead. Still, it was only a guess as to how it had been; though Michael had been present for his funeral, he wasn’t exactly aware of it at the time. He had no idea what Ray, or anyone else for that matter, had gone through when he died. Fuck, he had no idea what Ray was going through right _now_. _‘Dammit, now I’m fucking depressed. Shit.’_ He slid the phone’s keyboard out and quickly input a message.

Mjones: hey sorry I was taking a nap (Sent 7:08 p.m.)  
and yeah i’m down for some halo (Sent 7:09 p.m.)

**Wolfman: thank god** (Sent 7:08 p.m.) **  
for a second I thought maybe you’d died** (Sent 7:09 p.m.) **  
again** (Sent 7:09 p.m.) **  
shit I’m sorry that’s not appropriate** (Sent 7:10 p.m.) **  
I mean** (Sent 7:10 p.m.) ****  
fuck (Sent 7:10 p.m.)

Mjones: I don’t care (Sent 7:11 p.m.)  
Just a part of who I am now I guess (Sent 7:11 p.m.)

**Wolfman: yeah** (Sent 7:11 p.m.) **  
so anyway halo** (Sent 7:13 p.m.)

Mjones: I’m down for halo (Sent 7:14 p.m.)  
don’t have headphones so you’re gonna have to deal with whatever the fuck microphone is in ry’s shitty setup (Sent 7:15 p.m.)  
either that or I call you and put you on speaker (Sent 7:15 p.m.)

**Wolfman: both are options** (Sent 7:15 p.m.)

Mjones: thank you for stating the obvious dickhead (Sent 7:16 p.m.)

**Wolfman: no problem** (Sent 7:17 p.m.)

Michael snorted and put his phone back into his pocket. _Halo 3_ was already in the Xbox’s disc drive, so he set about searching for the controller, and, on impulse, any sort of headset for the Xbox. He found the controller on the shelf with the other games, and promptly pawed around for anything resembling a headset. Eventually, once he’d reached the back of the shelf, he found a bent, tape-wrapped, threadbare, free-with-this-console headset that looked like it would crumble if he sneezed anywhere within a three-state radius of it. _‘Better than nothing…barely.’_ He plugged it into the controller and stalked back to the couch.

Seconds later, a notification popped up beneath the Xbox title screen. _You have 1 new friend request._ He opened it and was greeted with a menu and the text _BrownMan would like to be your friend. ‘Huh. Guess I forgot to do this already…or he just forgot to send it.’_ It didn’t really matter either way, so Michael hit ‘accept’ and waited.

A minute after that, another pop-up informed him that he was invited to join a game, which he promptly did. The headset buzzed loudly, and he scrambled to put it in his ear.

“he – ou – ere?” Static ate most of Ray’s greeting, as well as whatever he might have said afterwards. Michael briefly considered how to fix it, and decided percussive maintenance was the best way to go. He took the headset out of his ear and thwacked it against his palm for a couple seconds. Luckily, it didn’t break, and the static faded from the werewolf’s voice.

“Can you hear me?” he finally heard Ray say. “Hello?”

“Finally, Jesus!” He stuck the headset back in his ear and settled back against the couch. “Hey, Ray.”

“S’up.”

“Sorry about the wait. The one fucking headset Ryan has is the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever seen in my life. I literally couldn’t hear a word you said for, like, a fucking minute and a half.”

“Can’t say I’m that surprised. He’s a fucking…weird-ass…loner.”

“Wow, great description there, Ray.”

“I know, right?”

The intro cinematic had, by this point, finished playing, and _Halo 3’s_ tutorial had begun. Michael was the Arbiter this time around, so he got to watch as Sergeant Johnson taught Ray how to look around, and eventually to walk and jump.

“So…how’ve you been?” he asked in the interim.

“Uh…not bad. Just been doing…y’know…whatever.”

“Day to day shit?”

“Yeah. Get up, go to work, come home, play games, jerk off. Fucking great life I have here.” Ray sighed loudly. “Not to mention the fucking wolf thing.”

“At least it’s only once a month, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Could do without the rest of the shit, though.”

“Like…?”

“Like when the moon’s _almost_ full, and I start looking like Wolverine’s nerdy brown cousin. I’ve gotten fired from two jobs because of this bullshit! ‘We have hygiene standards here,’ they say, ‘you can’t come in here looking like _that._ ’ It’s not like I can go, ‘hey, I’m wolfing out here, even if I do shave, it just grows back in about an hour.’ I’d get shipped to the fucking nuthouse. I start itching everywhere, too, ‘cause I have all this fucking _fur_ sprouting all over my goddamn body, I crave meat like it’s crack, and everyone. Fucking. _Reeks._ ” He let out a breath, and continued. “Sorry, it pisses me off. I turned into you for a second there.”

“Ha, ha, _very_ funny.” They proceeded through the level, listening to all the exposition happening around them. “So…anything else, or just same old shit?”

“Well…I’ve, uh, got a new neighbor.”

“Yeah? Anybody cool, or are they a total ass? Maybe they’re a druggie and you guys can fuckin’ blaze it up together.”

“I have no fucking clue. She just got here.”

“Wait, _she?_ ” Michael leaned forward as the first real fight started up onscreen. “Dude, are you telling me there’s a possibility of you getting laid? Or am I reading that wrong?”

“Man, I’m gonna fucking die a virgin, you know that.” They both chuckled at that. “No, she’s…man, I don’t know. Besides, I…never mind.”

“What? Are you seriously scared of introducing yourself to her? Fucking weak, Ray.”

Ray was silent for a few minutes. Michael waited for his friends response, the bubble of mirth in his stomach deflating somewhat. Maybe the jibe had been in bad taste. Before he could say anything, the werewolf was speaking. “You know what? I am _absolutely_ afraid! And you know why? Because once a month, I turn into a fucking bloodthirsty _monster._ I wake up in the morning and freak the fuck out because I have no idea what I’ve done the night before. Did I break into someone’s home? Did I hurt someone? Did I _kill_ someone? I don’t fucking know! I have no control, I have no will…all I can do is just…just _try_ to fix everything I can.”

“Shit, Ray, I’m…I’m sorry. I was just making a joke.”

“Nah, it’s good. Don’t worry about it. You couldn’t…you couldn’t have known.”

“Uh…” Michael cast about for a way to change the subject. In the meantime, they finished the first level of _Halo 3_ and moved on to the second. Eventually, his mind latched onto his most recent musings. _‘Not the most positive thing in the world, but if we’re gonna bare our souls here…fuck it, go big or go home.’_

“Fuck! Well, get shit on, Ray. That’s what I get for putting it on Legendary. Fucking idiot.”

“…Yeah. Um…Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“When I died…what was it like?”

“Oh. Um…well…uh…wow, what a question. Uh…”

“So…bad, then?”

“…look, Michael, I’m gonna be honest here. It was one of the worst things that ever happened to me, okay?” The werewolf was quiet for a moment. “I’d…the last thing…you’d been texting me…the night before. You were going to a friend of your…a friend of a _friend’s_ birthday party, and you _really_ weren’t looking forward to it. You…you asked me how you could get out of it and…well…I said you…fuck, can I even _say_ it?”

“I don’t know, _can_ you?”

“…I said you should kill yourself. It was a fucking _joke,_ right? And I told you to _attempt_ to have a good time and, y’know, text me if you got bored or whatever and…that was it. Those were the last things I ever said to you. Next thing I knew, your… _friend_ called me to say you’d been shot and killed. Fuck…I’d…I’venever felt so bad in my _entire life._ I mean, I know it wasn’t a suicide but…I mean…if I’d known you’d…if I’d known it was the last time I’d ever talk to you…I wouldn’t have said it.”

Michael shook his head, nearly dislodging his headset in the process. “C’mon, Ray, remember what you _just_ said? You couldn’t have _possibly_ known what was going to happen. There was no way for _anyone_ to know! I’m not mad, or-”

“You don’t _get_ it!” Ray’s shout nearly overpowered the taped-together headset; it nearly dissolved into static again as it was. “I had to _stand_ beside your fucking coffin and look down at your fucking body and think ‘I said you should die. The last thing I ever said to you was that you should fucking die.’ I had to stand with all your family crying their goddamn hearts out around me, and all I could think about was the last thing I ever said to you.” He took a deep breath, and his exhale caused the headset to crackle loudly. “And now…now you’re alive again and…and I’m still not sure how I feel about it.”

Michael blinked, and immediately got his ass owned by a Brute with a Gravity Hammer. “What d’you mean, you’re not sure how you feel about it?”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m…I’m _glad_ you’re back and all, but…it’s _weird._ I…back when…right after you died…I would have given _anything_ to get you back. But…now…you’re not exactly… _you,_ y’know.”

The undead sighed deeply and looked down at his pale hands. “I can understand, yeah. Hell, _I’m_ weirded out!” He respawned just in time to get killed again. A small flicker of irritation cut through his melancholy, but he tamped it down. “So…you’re glad I’m back, but you’re weirded out because I’m an undead zombie-type demonic… _thing?_ ”

“That, and you didn’t even recognize me when we…back in the cage.”

“Yeah, I’m still working on that shit.” He respawned again and ran to catch up with Ray. “Ryan gave me a whole buncha shit he found online. That’s helped.”

“Really? He did that? Why?”

“Let’s just say we…connected.”

“Wow, so gay. Did you use protection, or did he just go in dry?”

He snorted. “Yeah, like _that_ would ever happen. We just talked, and he printed a whole bunch of articles and stuff out.”

“Have they actually helped? You can’t trust a _lot_ of shit you see on the internet.”

Michael shuddered at the memory of his autopsy photos, and did his best to block them out by focusing on the game. “Trust me, some of them…worked to fucking perfection.”

“How so?”

“I…I remember how I died.”

Ray was quiet for a moment. “Bet _that’s_ fucking horrible.”

“It was pretty fucking awful, yeah.” The level ended, and they watched Master Chief and the Arbiter fly away on the Pelican. “Even then…I _still_ don’t think I remembered everything about it. The beginning bit was…I dunno, patchy.”

“Uh…I’m not sure if I’m supposed to talk about it…Geoff might rip my ass apart.”

“Who the fuck gives a shit?”

“Um, _I_ do! I don’t want to piss off a fucking _demon,_ Michael!”

“C’mon, it’s _Geoff,_ Ray. He’s the laziest motherfucker on the face of the planet.”

“Sure, sure, but he _did_ manage to resurrect you. If he can do _that,_ he can _absolutely_ do a lot of…other…shit.”

“The end of that sentence kinda got away from you, huh?”

“Yeah…go me.”

The next level started just then, and the duo were content to play with only minimal talking for about fifteen minutes or so. Michael died at least three times in the first ten minutes, and the third death had him dashing the controller against the ground like he’d just scored a touchdown. “What the fuck difficulty did you put it on, Ray?! That’s, like, the _billionth_ fucking time I died this game!”

“I _said_ I put it on Legendary. S’not _my_ fault you weren’t paying attention.”

“The fuck did you do _that_ for?! Did you _want_ me to go fucking insane?!”

“…I guess I forgot to say I was trying for the Legendary campaign achievement, huh?”

“…You piece of shit.”

“Wow. Fucking rude.”

Michael grumbled, picked up the controller and looked it over for damage. The casing had cracked a little bit, but as far as he could tell, the damage was purely aesthetic. _‘Still, Ryan’s gonna be so pissed off when he finds out…meh, I won’t tell him.’_ In the meantime, the Xbox was cheerfully informing him that the controller had disconnected, so he booted the controller back up and resumed the game. “You know it’s true.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good, glad we’re on the same page.”

They played for an hour more, dying almost every five minutes or so and being booted back to the last checkpoint. By the time the clock hit nine, both of them were finished with _Halo 3_ for the moment, and quite ready for something else.

“Okay, fuck this. What else do you have there?”

“You know what else we have. _GTA V-_ ”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Um…I think there’s _Minecraft-_ ”

“ _God_ no!”

“That’s pretty much all the multiplayer games Ry-Bread has…for Xbox, at least.”

“Really? Lame.”

Michael sank back into the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “So…anything else you want to do besides game?”

“I wasn’t aware there _were_ other things.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Why you laughing? You know it’s true.”

“You see, I’m laughing at _you,_ Ray.”

“Yeah, I bring the comedy.”

“No, but seriously, what are we going to do?”

“Uh...you want to…I dunno, get something to eat?”

The undead pulled out his phone and checked the time. “What’s open at nine o’clock?”

“Only the best restaurants, that’s what.”

“The cheapest, you mean.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Glad to see your taste in shitty food hasn’t changed.”

“Yeah, I’m a huge fan of shitting my pants.”

Michael snorted. “Do you want me to see if anybody else wants to come, or d’you just want it to be us?”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay. Maybe I’ll drag Gavin along, if Ryan’s done playing with him.”

“…I…don’t even want to picture that.”

“Trust me, I got to see it firsthand, and I’m doing my best to fucking repress right now.”

“You’re not helping me not imagine.”

“I know. All right, I’m gonna switch off the Box and call you, okay?”

“Yeah. Bye for now.”

Michael turned the Xbox off, put everything away, and started looking for the others. Jack had said he was going to be in the kitchen, but he hadn’t come out since Michael had started playing, and he wasn’t in there now. He shrugged and banged on the door to Ryan’s lab. “Hey, Ryan! Is Gavin still down there? I wanna talk to him!” The door chirped and swung open. “Guess so.”

He descended quickly and entered the lab. Gavin was sitting upright now, his legs dangling over the side of the table. He looked up when Michael stepped in and grinned. “Hi, Michael!”

“Uh, hey, Gavin. Whatcha doing down here?”

“Nothing. I’m effing _bored,_ to be honest.”

“Then why are you still down here?”

“Ryan only just finished here. He had to do away with all my blood. Bloody awful feeling.”

“So he did end up draining all your blood? Gross.”

“Yeah…so, what’re we doing?”

“I was talking to Ray and he wants to mooch food off us, so we’re going out to eat.”

“Oh. Top.” He hopped down from the table and walked over to Michael. “We gonna get Ryan to drive us?”

“I think...” Michael glanced around the lab and saw neither hide nor hair of the scientist. “…he’s busy.”

“Then how’re we gonna go anywhere?”

“I have no fucking clue…but I’ll think of something.” Michael led his fellow undead out of the lab and back into the kitchen. “Do you know where Ryan keeps his jacket?”

“No. Does he have a coat closet or something?”

“Maybe.”

They walked into the living room and looked around. Eventually, Michael went down the hall and checked all the doors along the way. One was the bathroom with the rusted tub, one was locked, but the one closest to the front door was packed to the brim with clothes. _‘Okay. Let’s see if that brown jacket is in here…’_

After ten minutes of pawing through musty coats and jackets, he finally found the jacket in question. It was the only one of the bunch that wasn’t covered in a half-inch of dust, though it did smell strongly of must. He searched the pockets, and found what he was looking for: Ryan’s wallet and car keys. _‘Thank God Ryan’s such an oblivious motherfucker.’_ He pocketed both items and went back to the living room. Gavin was still searching there like a fucking idiot, so he walked up behind him and tapped his shoulder. “Found it. Let’s go.”

“Found what? What _are_ we doing, Michael?”

“We’re _leaving,_ Gavin, _that’s_ what we’re doing.” He took out the car keys and spun them around on his finger. “I don’t think Ryan’ll mind if we... _borrow…_ his car.”

“I think you’re bloody mental, Michael.”

“Who the hell cares. Let’s go.”

The front door was still a bedsheet, so it was simple to slip out the door and into the yard. Ryan’s car was in the same place as last time. Its tarp was securely fastened in place, though Michael fixed that quickly. “I’m going to warn you, I haven’t driven in…however long I’ve been dead.”

“Are you _sure_ we should be doing this?” Gavin whispered. “Ryan’s gonna go _mad_ when he finds out we stole his car.”

“He’s _already_ mad, Gavin. Besides, who the fuck gives a shit? We want out, and I didn’t want to fucking bother him. If _you_ want to go ask him to-”

“Never mind, Michael. Let’s go see X-Ray.”

“Yeah, we’ll go see…wait, ‘X-Ray’?”

“That’s a good nickname, right?”

“Not…really.”

“Oh. I’ll let him be the judge of that, Michael.”

“I can pretty much guarantee he’ll give less than a shit about it.” Michael unlocked the car and got behind the wheel. “Alright. Let’s do this shit.” He stuck the key into the ignition and turned it. The car juddered violently, sputtered, chugged, and finally switched on. He remembered to turn on the headlights, but the car screamed when he tried to put the car in drive. “What the fuck…no. This can’t be.”

“Something wrong, Michael?”

“It’s a fucking _stick_ shift! What twenty-first century mad scientist drives a shitty ass stick shift?! Fuck, I can’t drive a stick shift!”

“It’s really not that hard. Just bung it down on the clutch, shift it in first, and there you go.”

Michael blinked. “…I’ll wing it.” He found the clutch pedal and managed to get the car moving.

“Michael? How’re we getting out then?”

“You’ll see.”

“Oh _God!_ ” Gavin braced himself against the frame of the car and squeezed his eyes shut.

Michael floored it, but the moment they approached the gate, it automatically rolled open to let them through. “Oh. Fuck, I sort of wanted to bust out like a fucking badass.”

“You mean we didn’t?” Gavin squinted through his eyelashes, and relaxed slightly when he saw the open field before them.

“Did it _sound_ like we did?”

“No.”

“Then we didn’t. Now, let’s find Ray.”

* * *

 

It took them quite some time to figure out how to get to Ray’s apartment block, and by the time they reached it, it was nearly ten thirty at night. Surprisingly, Ray was waiting for them in the parking lot. He was completely engrossed in his DS and only looked up when Michael honked at him. The DS was tucked away in a hoodie pocket and the werewolf headed for them.

“Wow, talk about being late,” he said. “Also, you forgot to call me, asshole.”

“Shut up. We’re here, aren’t we?”

He blinked and did a quick once over of the car. “Where’s…Ryan?”

“Couldn’t come. Or wouldn’t come. I dunno. Didn’t ask him.”

“That’s…uh, do we have to worry about a scalpel-happy mad scientist coming after us for stealing his shit?”

“How would he follow us? He doesn’t have a car…or, well, now he doesn’t.”

“He’s right, Michael,” said Gavin.

“Right about what?”

“Ryan could come after us, Michael!”

“ _How?!_ He doesn’t have a fucking _car!_ ”

“Whatever. Let’s go eat. I’m starving.” Ray hopped into the backseat and shimmied all the way to the right. As soon as he got comfortable, he pulled his DS back out of his pocket and started playing again.

“Fine.” The car complained loudly when Michael tried to shift gear. “Fuck. _You,_ ” he snarled. The gearbox clashed loudly, and then they were moving.

“Michael, c’mon, if you keep crashing the gears like this, Ryan’s _definitely_ gonna know what we did!”

“I can’t help it! I don’t knowhow to drive stick!”

“Uh…should I have just hitchhiked to food?” Ray asked. “At this point, the likelihood of dying seems pretty high either way.”

“You know, I can kick you out right now, Wolfman.”

“…All right, fine.”

“Good.” The car juddered again, and the gearbox thumped loudly. “Oh my _God,_ stop being such a little _bitch!_ ”

“What? I said I was fine!”

“Not you, the fucking _car!_ ” Michael hit the steering wheel for emphasis. “Stupid fucking old-ass piece of _shit_!” The car whined loudly at him, but then it quieted, and they got back on the road without a problem. “Okay, so it’s ten forty-five. What’s open this late, besides shitty fast food places?”

“Uh…nothing besides shitty fast food places. I’m seriously fine with shitty fast food, though.”

“Really? I went to all the trouble to ste-uh, _borrow_ Ryan’s wallet and we’re going to eat cheap fast food. Damn. I kinda wanted to splurge a bit.”

“Well, you can ‘splurge’ on a burger and fries. Quick, before I starve to death!”

“Yeah, you _really_ look like you’re wasting away there, Ray.”

“You joke, but I’m _seriously_ fucking starving right now.”

“I’m feeling a little hungry myself,” said Gavin.

“All right, both of you quit whining. We’ll find something, okay?”

They drove in silence for some time. Michael scanned the different signs when they flashed past, but they were either not open or they did not sell food. The clock hit eleven by the time they came across a Whataburger on the edge of downtown Austin that was open. “All right, here’s your shitty fast food joint. Happy?”

Ray glanced up from his game. “Finally! Jesus.”

He pulled into the parking lot and cajoled the car into park. It whined one last time before falling silent. They hopped out and made for the restaurant. Then Michael caught sight of Gavin. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The sewn-together undead blinked dumbly. “What?”

“You didn’t bring your hoodie?! You fucking _moron!_ Do you _seriously_ think nobody’s gonna notice fucking…fucking _Frankenstein_ walking around?!” He shoved Gavin back a step, trying to get him away from the windows.

“Ow! _Michael!_ ”

“Fucking get down, asshole, before somebody _sees_ you!”

Before Gavin could reply, something purple hit him squarely in the face. He screeched loudly and flailed his arms. “Oh God it’s on my _face!_ Get it off _get it off!_ ”

“Calm down, it’s just a jacket,” said Ray. “Put it on. Hide your shame.”

“Isn’t this _your_ jacket, Ray?” asked Michael.

“Yeah, and if anything happens to it, I will push your fucking shit in.”

After a moment’s struggle, Gavin extracted himself from the purple hoodie and put it on. It wasn’t quite long enough to cover his entire midriff, but it covered all the parts that mattered, so Michael decided not to worry about it. _‘As long as no-one sees what a fucking abomination he is, we’re good.’_

They ambled into the Whataburger and immediately squinted at the almost too bright lights. There were only two people besides themselves and the cashier present, and they both sat in a corner table. While they walked up to the wall-mounted menu, the werewolf flinched and shivered. “Why is it always so cold in these places?” he whispered.

Michael shrugged. “Makes you anticipate the food more, I guess.”

“It’s shitty customer service.”

“Don’t know what you’re complaining about, X-Ray,” said Gavin.

“Says the guy who has my…wait, _what_ did you call me?”

“X-Ray. Y’know, ‘cause of your name.”

“That’s…fucking dumb.”

“What? No!”

“I fucking _told_ you,” Michael singsonged.

“How is it dumb?!”

“Do I _really_ have to explain it to you?!”

Before anybody could say anything else, somebody cleared their throat, and they started back to reality. The person working the counter sighed deeply and crossed her arms. “Are you three ready to order?” she deadpanned.

“Uh, no, give us a second,” said Michael.

She sighed again. “Take all the time you need.”

He turned to talk to the other two, but they were already perusing the menu. _‘Okay then…should I get something? I mean, I still have no idea how my stomach works…maybe I have to eat rotting food? Oh, God, I fucking hope not. Uh…fuck, I just wanted to talk to Ray…’_ He was aware of the murmur of conversation around him, but he blocked it out to focus on the menu. _‘ **Am** I able to eat? I’ve never tried before. Shit, what if I can’t, and Ryan has to pump my stomach?’_

“Sir? Sir?” Michael blinked and focused back on the worker. “Are you ready to order?”

He looked around and saw Ray and Gavin staring at him expectantly. “Uh…I’ll just…I’ll just have a drink, thanks.”

She nodded and tapped it into the register. “All right, that’s two Number Ones, one with fries and a milkshake, one with tots and a milkshake, and a regular drink. That’ll be $21.50.”

“One second.” Michael dug out Ryan’s wallet and leafed through it. He slid the first credit card he saw out of its sheath and handed it over. _‘Please let this be a good one.’_ She ran it through the machine, and he tensed. The register whirred and spat out a long white receipt. “Okay. Sign on the line, please.” She handed over the receipt and a black ballpoint pen.

Michael took them and glanced over the receipt. He couldn’t help but snort when he saw the card holder’s name. _‘“Frederic Winklebottom”? Are you fucking kidding me? What the actual fuck, Ryan?’_ He scribbled something that looked like it might have an ‘F’ and a ‘W’ in it somewhere, and handed it back. “I just want to say, I’m borrowing that card.”

“Of course you are, sir,” the worker replied automatically. “Would you like a copy of the receipt?”

“No thanks.”

“All right.” She picked up a plastic number 13 and gave it to Michael. “Your order will be out shortly.”

“Thanks.”

 They got their drinks and sat down at a table close to one of the windows. Michael took a big slurp of his drink and idly watched the traffic. The coke was almost too sweet, but he reveled in the taste. It was nice to have something besides bile or poison in his throat. _‘God, I’ve missed drinking…not ‘drinking’ drinking, but regular drinking. Fuck, you really **don’t** know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone.’_

“So, how’s it going in the fucking Voorhees’ house?” asked Ray

Michael shrugged. “Same old, same old.”

“You remember anything else yet?”

“Not besides how I died, no.”

“You remember how you died, Michael?” Gavin asked.

“Yeah, Gavin, and you know what? It wasn’t great.”

“How’d it happen, boi?”

“I was fucking _shot_ to death, that’s how it happened! I bled out in an alleyway!” Michael leaned back against the cracked vinyl seat and stared out the window. “I drowned in my own blood.”

Gavin paled noticeably, and Ray flinched. “Oh…right then,” said the Brit. “Cause…cause I don’t really remember how _I_ died. I remember…something or other…but not much.”

“You remember everything else though,” said Michael. “ _That’s_ what I want to remember. I could _definitely_ do without the dying shit. It fucking _sucks_ that _that’s_ one of the only things I remember about myself.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Due to the emptiness of the Whataburger, their food was brought out in a matter of minutes. Both Ray and Gavin made happy noises and reached for the paper-wrapped burgers and steaming fries. They were duly unwrapped and eagerly devoured moments later.

Michael watched them eat with a small twinge of jealousy. He wasn’t hungry, and hadn’t been since the moment he’d been resurrected, but he missed the _feeling_ of eating. His eyes slowly fell from his friends’ chewing mouths to Gavin’s as-yet untouched fries.

_‘Fuck it.’_

He snagged a fry, twirled it in his fingers for a bit, and finally popped it into his mouth. Holy fuck, absence truly did make the heart grow fonder; it transformed the normally shitty fast food fry to the best fucking fry in the entire goddamn universe. It was stupid how delicious this one fry was, and it was gone far too quickly. He swallowed and immediately grabbed another one.

“Oi, Michael!” Gavin complained. “Stop eating all my damn food!”

“I only took two, Gavvy,” he retorted, and tossed the second fry into his mouth. “Calm down.”

“Bloody get your own, Michael!”

“I’m done, all right? Jesus!” He stuck his tongue out at the other undead.

“Michael, no! I don’t want to see… _ah!_ ”

Michael glared at him, and then he opened his mouth and chewed as loudly and obviously as he could, making especially sure that the other undead could see the chewed-up fry swirling around his tongue and mouth. Gavin shrieked and ran for the restroom. “Fucking idiot.” Michael shook his head, swallowed, and picked up another fry.

“Fucking nice,” the werewolf chuckled.

“I know, right?” Michael laughed and took a couple more fries. “So…”

“So…”

“Any progress on your neighbor front?”

“Uh…”

“C’mon, do you at _least_ know her name? You _have_ to have _seen_ her, at least.”

“I…said hi to her…when I left my apartment.”

“Well that’s…progress…I think.” Michael shook his head. “You’re such a fucking loser.”

“I _told_ you, I don’t…I’m not…I’m a fucking _monster._ I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He looked down at his half-eaten dinner and bit his lip. “You know…one time, early on…when the fucking moon was almost full…I caught myself eating a fucking raw slab of meat like a fucking fatty. I was just…just _covered_ in blood and juice and shit. Now…fucking…if I eat meat…it all tastes like burned shit. I just know, I just fucking _know_ that I’ll fucking lose it one day and go for something… _fresh…_ if you get what I’m saying.” He carefully picked up his burger and took another bite out of it. “Even _this,_ ” he slurred, “tastes like…I dunno, charcoal or some shit.”

“Uh…that sucks…I guess.”

Ray snorted. “Yeah, like _you_ know.”

“I can’t get drunk unless I drink poison.”

“Isn’t alcohol technically poison?”

“No, like, _literal_ poison. Like arsenic and shit.”

“Oh. _Oh._ Jesus.”

“Yeah. I mean, it was nice to drink something and have it…y’know, _affect_ me, but at the same time…” He thought back to Ryan slicing Gavin open to get the arsenic out of his guts, and shuddered. “Not so great.”

“Man, this sucks. Let’s talk about something else.”

As if on cue, Gavin came back from the bathroom and flopped down next to Ray. The regular half of his face was bone white and he shook like a leaf. “You’re an arsehole, Michael.”

“What?” He put an innocent look on his face and batted his eyelashes. “What _ever_ did I _do,_ Gavvy-Wavvy?”

“You…you…oh, God, I don’t even wanna _think_ about it!” He put a hand over his mouth and coughed loudly.

Ray glared at him. “I will fucking kill you if you barfed all over my jacket.”

“Wow, such concern there, Ray.”

“Yeah, I don’t want to wash that jacket! It always turns all my shit purple!”

“Do you seriously don’t know how to do laundry?”

The werewolf slouched in his seat. “I can do laundry,” he grumbled, “I just don’t like it.”

“See? _That’s_ why you need to introduce yourself to that girl, Ray! She could help you with that shit!”

He blinked. “…uh…I thought we were…I thought I’d gone over this.”

“C’mon, when _I_ met you, you were like a fucking puppy!”

“Was I?”

“Yeah! The most danger I was in was danger of getting smothered by your furry ass. You licked me at one point-”

“Oh, _gross!_ ”

“-and you just wanted me to fucking pet you. About as threatening as a fucking golden retriever.”

“I thought he was right scary,” said Gavin.

“I’m _right_ here,” said Ray.

“He _is_ right there, Gavin,” Michael admonished. “Could you be any more fucking rude, brah?”

“Well, he was!” Gavin insisted. “He _growled_ at me, Michael! And remember when he fought Geoff for no bloody reason? I was effing _terrified,_ Michael!”

“Thanks. That makes me feel really great about myself,” said Ray.

Michael glared at Gavin and stole another fry. “You fucking proud of yourself?”

He blinked. “What? What’d I do?”

“You’re talking shit about Ray, you asshole! If you’re gonna do that, fucking do it behind his back like a regular human being!”

“Or, you know, don’t do it at all,” said Ray. “That’d be great.”

“C’mon, Ray, let’s be realistic here. There’s no way that’s gonna happen.”

He sighed. “I know. A guy can dream, though, right?”

“Oh yeah, sure. Pretty pathetic dream you have there, Ray.”

“You dissing my dream, man?”

“I’m just saying, you need to dream _bigger,_ brah!” Michael swigged his drink and gestured around himself. “Like…I don’t know...fuck, I lost my train of thought.”

Ray snorted. “What a fucking great pep talk.” He grabbed a couple fries and munched on them thoughtfully. “You want a better dream? Here’s one – I stop being a fucking furry asshole.”

“Ew, why’re you talking about furry assholes, Ray? Fucking gross.” Gavin coughed again and retched horribly. “Shut up, Gavin.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Michael thought about it for a minute or so before a thought occurred to him. “Hey…I have an idea.”

He perked up. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“Me’n Gavin live with a fucking mad scientist, Ray…maybe he can help.”

Ray noticeably deflated. “Oh, yeah, like fucking Stabby McFuckyou could be of any help.”

“He’s fucking insane, sure, but he _is,_ like, crazy fucking smart, and I _know_ he’d jump at the chance to stud-I mean, _help_ you.” Ray gave him an exasperated look. “Yeah, I know, maybe he wouldn’t want to do it for the right reasons, but…I mean, if he’s able to do it…”

“You know, Michael’s right, X-Ray,” said Gavin.

“Thank you, Gavin.”

“No problem, boi.”

Ray finished off his dinner and sat sucking on his drink for several minutes. Michael spent this time trying to get another one of Gavin’s fries, while Gavin kept deflecting his hands with increasing annoyance. The clock on the wall hit midnight, and Ray finally spoke.

“Yeah…fuck it. I can’t say I’m fucking psyched about letting Ryan the fucking creepy guy test on me like some fucking…rat or whatever, but…” He shrugged. “It’s not like I have any other fucking options.”

“That’s the spirit…I guess. And don’t worry, I’ll fucking deck Ryan if he tries anything. I got your back, Ray.”

He nodded. “Yeah, okay. Liking this. Liking the solidarity.” He finished his drink and pushed himself to his feet. “All right, let’s get outta here.”

Michael nodded and rose as well. Just as he did, his phone buzzed in his back pocket. _‘Uh oh.’_ He pulled it out and saw that he had seven missed calls and four unread texts. He tentatively unlocked his phone and read through the calls. Five of them were from two different unknown numbers, while the other two were from Ryan. _‘Fuck. I think we’ve been busted.’_

He went through the messages next. The same two numbers had each sent a text, and the other two were from Ryan again. _‘Boy oh boy, I wonder what they said.’_

**Unknown Number: how many times do I have to tell you not to go out without me? I swear Ill kill you when I find you.** (Sent 11:29 p.m.)

_‘Sounds like Geoff. And since when did he say not to go out without him?’_ He shook his head and read the next one.

**Unknown Number: Michael I know you took Ryan’s car. Just wanted to warn you that he is NOT pleased about it, to put it lightly. Tread carefully. –Jack** (Sent 11:15 p.m.)

Michael blinked. _‘…I didn’t even know Jack had a phone. At least he was nice enough to try and warn me.’_

**Ryan the Insane Scientist Guy: really Michael?** (Sent 10:57 p.m.)

**Ryan the Insane Scientist Guy: I’m coming for you.** (Sent 11:12 p.m.)

_‘Holy shit, that is fucking ominous.’_ Michael swallowed and looked at the other two lads. “Uh…we might have a serious problem.” He held out his phone and waited for Ray and Gavin to read the messages.

“Oh, God, Michael!” Gavin wailed. “We’re absolutely _done!”_

“Bitch, I fucking _told_ you he’d find a way to come after us! Jesus Christ.” Ray shook his head. “I hope he spares me at least.”

“Fuck…” Michael pulled up his contacts and dialed Ryan’s number. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna see if I can’t…fucking…I don’t know… _not_ get us killed by an angry scientist.”

“Better you than me,” said Ray.

“God, Michael, don’t make it worse!” squealed Gavin.

“Thanks, guys, for that fucking vote of confidence.” He hit the last digit, pressed ‘call’, and waited. The dial tone sounded twice before it picked up.

It was silent for a moment before Ryan finally spoke. “So.”

“So…?”

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t want to bother you!”

“While, uh, I appreciate…you not wanting to disturb me…I have to say, I really _don’t_ appreciate you stealing my goddamn car.”

“I didn’t _steal_ it…stealing implies I wasn’t gonna bring it back.”

There was a pause. “…All right, I’ll give you that one. I mean…I _still_ think…you should’ve…asked me first. Please tell me you at least know how to drive a stick shift.”

“Uh…”

The scientist made an exasperated noise. “Did the car make a…fucking…clashing noise whenever you drove?”

“A lot,” he admitted.

He sighed. “…Do you realize how much damage you caused when you did that?”

“Dude, your car is held together by duct tape and Gorilla Glue. If I fart hard enough it’d probably crumble into dust.”

“Hey, be nice to my car. Sure, it’s not the prettiest car in the world-”

“Fucking understatement, Ryan.”

“- _but,_ it gets the job done.”

“After an hour of trying to start the damn thing, sure. But who the fuck cares about that?”

“Uh, I do?”

“Whatever. I have a reason for you to not be mad at me.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! I, uh, met up with Ray, and I, uh, may or may not have gotten him to agree to be your test subject.”

Ryan was silent for a moment. “Really?” The eagerness in his voice both pleased and worried Michael. “I’ve always wanted to see how werewolves worked.”

“Do you _have_ to phrase it like that? Anyway, there’s a condition.”

“There’s _always_ a condition,” Ryan grumbled.

“You _have_ to try to find a cure for him.”

“Oh.” Ryan didn’t speak for a solid minute. “He…does realize…that’s nearly impossible, right? I mean, scientists have been trying to figure out lycanthropy for _centuries,_ not even counting the fact that modern scientists don’t even think it _exists._ Even if I’m able to figure out what _causes_ it, I might not be able to develop a cure for months, or even _years._ ”

“It’s not _impossible_ impossible, though?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then can you at least _try?_ You’ll get to poke him with all your needles and shit.”

“You make a convincing argument. Sure. Fine. I’ll talk to him when I find you guys. He’ll have to stay with us again, though. I don’t know if I can afford the gas for all the fucking round trips.”

“Great. I’m sure Ray’ll be fucking pleased about that.” Michael glanced at the clock. “How soon are you gonna be here?”

“Considering I don’t even know where you are…no fucking clue.”

“You don’t have, like, a tracker on your car or something?”

“Now that you mention it, I probably should have put one in there. I didn’t consider the fact that one of you might steal it.”

“Hey, hey, we’ve been through this. I _borrowed_ the car. I did not _steal_ it.”

“You say ‘tomato’, I say ‘you stole my car.’”

“Fine. Be a dick.” He rolled his eyes and made for the door. “We’re at the Whataburger on…on…shit, I don’t know where we are, actually.”

“Seriously?!”

“What? It was dark!”

“Do you _seriously_ expect me to drive to every fucking Whataburger in Austin to find…hold on a second…” Ryan broke off their conversation, and Michael heard him conversing with someone else in the background. “Okay, I know where you are now. Geoff was kind enough to-”

Ryan’s voice suddenly broke off, and Geoff was shouting in his ear. “Are you _trying_ to give me a goddamn heart attack?!”

Michael jumped about a foot in the air, and startled the other two lads. “Geoff, fucking _warn_ a guy before you shriek in his ear!”

“Didn’t I tell you _not_ to go out by yourself?”

“No.”

“Yeah, I fucking…wait, I didn’t?”

“Nope.”

“I absolutely – shut up, Ryan – I absolutely told you that you weren’t allowed – shut _up,_ Ryan! – outside by yourself! What if something happens, huh? Who’s gonna take care of you if you’re by yourself, huh?”

“I’m _not_ by myself! Fucking Gavin and Ray are here!”

“No need to be rude about it,” said Gavin.

“Shut up, Gavin,” said Michael.

“Yeah, no offense to either one of them, but they suck.”

“Wow, now _that_ was rude,” said Michael.

“No, I mean, they can’t exactly take care of you if something goes wrong. Gavin’s fucking Gavin, and werewolves are useless without a full moon, so – what? No, I know, but…you know what, Ryan? Shut up.”

“What was Ryan saying?”

“Stupid shit. Anyway, we’re on our way, and we’ll be there in five minutes. You’d better stay put this time, or else.”

“Or else what?” he challenged.

“Or else I’ll be fucking pissed off, that’s what!”

“Can I have my phone back now?” he heard Ryan ask.

“I have to say bye to Michael!”

“Bye, Geoff,” said Michael, and hung up.

“So…are we good now?” asked Ray.

“I honestly don’t know. Ryan _might_ be slightly less angry about me stealing his car than before…but now Geoff’s pissed off because apparently I’m not allowed outside without an adult.” He shook his head. “I’m twenty-seven, I can take care of myself.”

Ray shrugged. “Don’t ask me. Maybe it’s some weird demon shit.”

“Probably.”

Gavin tentatively grabbed Michael’s arm. “Michael, is…are they mad at _me,_ Michael?”

“Huh? Uh…I don’t think so.”

“Oh. Top.”

“Fuck you, Gavin.”

“Aw, what?”

“You know what!”

They bickered on their way back to the car, while Ray trailed in the back and occasionally shook his head. All three of them sat on the hood of the car and waited for the others to come. A cool breeze gusted through the parking lot, and the werewolf and the sewn-together undead shivered and drew closer to Michael, then immediately recoiled when he turned out to be colder than the breeze.

Together, they waited for the others to come get them, each of them privately hoping they weren’t about to be punished.


	22. Car-ma & House-Scheming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang reunites, returns home, and promptly ruins more of Ryan's shit.

It was twelve thirty in the morning by the time the gents arrived in the Whataburger parking lot. Ray had somehow managed to fall asleep, and was slumped against Michael’s shoulder. Gavin was nodding off on his other side, and Michael had resigned himself to being a living – well, undead –  pillow when a giant red SUV rolled into the parking lot and stopped barely four feet in front of them. All its doors popped open and the demon, scientist and swamp monster jumped down onto the asphalt. Ryan immediately made a beeline for his car.

“Can you please get off my car?” The lads hopped off, and he moved toward the driver’s side door.

“Um, do you want your keys back?” asked Michael.

“Nah, I’m good.” Ryan held up his hand, and the keys dangled from his index finger.

Michael blinked and patted himself down. With the exception of his phone, his pockets were empty. “What the – did you – WHAT?!”

“I picked your pocket when I walked by you.” He stuck the key in the door and coaxed it open. “I guess, since you didn’t notice, that either makes me a great pickpocket, or you have _really_ bad spatial awareness.”

Michael goggled at him. “You’re a fucking _pickpocket,_ too?! Jesus, Ryan!”

Jack shook his head. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

“Man, it’s great to be back,” said Ray. “I wouldn’t want to miss this shit for anything.”

“What? Desperate times call for desperate measures!” Ryan eased himself into the car and attempted to start it. The lads immediately cleared the area, but as it turned out, there was nothing to worry about. The car sputtered, made a horrible sawing cum grinding sound, and ultimately did not start. “C’mon, _come on,_ ” Ryan groaned, “start you motherfucking…” He slammed his palm down on the dashboard, and a loud _cha-CHUNK_ sounded from the engine. The car fell silent.

“Ryan, you killed it. You’re a goddamn car murderer. How does that make you feel?” Geoff stood by the car door, arms crossed and face smug.

“To be fair, though, it’s much less a murder and more a mercy killing,” said Ray. “It would’ve fucking died on its own sooner or later.”

“Can you fucks stop mouthing off and get the hood open?” The scientist hopped out of the car and slammed the door shut. “Stupid fucking piece of shit…”

“Wow, Ryan, there’s no need for that kind of language. There are _children_ present,” said Michael.

Ryan tensed. “Where, exactly?”

“Well… _Ray’s_ kind of a child.”

“I’m twenty-five, asshole!” The werewolf gave Michael the middle finger and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, but you have a baby face.”

“Okay, sure, but I’m an adult. I swear.”

“Says the guy who spends most of his day sitting around playing video games.”

“Yeah, I made a conscious decision as an adult to sit on my ass playing video games.” Ray shrugged. “Who the fuck gives a shit?”

Ryan had, by this point, gotten the hood of the car open and was poking around the engine. The lads clustered around him like eager puppies, peering into the rusted and crusty depths of the decrepit Camry.

“Wow, it’s even shittier on the inside,” said Ray.

“Seriously,” Michael agreed, “that looks fucking awful. How do you drive this thing around, Ryan?!” He leaned over and reached for the filthy carburetor, but the scientist smacked his hand away.

Geoff and Jack were also peering into the car’s moldering depths, and were also repulsed by its sorry state. “You could have fucking _died,_ you crazy asshole!” Geoff hissed angrily and pulled Ryan away from the car. “Get away from this…this…fucking _death_ machine!”

“Will you guys stop shitting on my car?” The scientist brushed Geoff away angrily and went back to poking around the motor. “I _know_ it’s a piece of crap, but-”

“Ryan, your car was a piece of shit, I dunno, ten, twelve years ago? It is _way_ past being ‘a piece of shit’. It’s a fucking disaster on wheels. I could _poke_ the damn thing and it would fall apart.” To prove his point, Geoff reached out and tapped the car’s frame with a single claw. It _thunked_ again, and the engine let out a huge cloud of black smoke.

“Aw, come _on!_ ” Ryan tried to rush toward the car, but the demon held him back.

“Let it go, man,” said Michael.

“‘Let it go, let it go,’” sang Ray, voice warbling somewhat.

“Oh my God, if you sing that piece of shit song, I will fucking end you,” said Michael.

“What?” The werewolf blinked several times in an attempt to feign innocence. “Can’t hold it back anymore?”

“Ray, I am fucking serious. Stop. Singing. That. Song.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He turned away and stage whispered, “The cold never bothered me anyway.”

“That’s it, you are fucking _dead!_ ” Michael leaped forward and swung at Ray, who yelped and dodged away.

“Dude, it’s just a fucking song!”

“It’s an _annoying_ fucking song!”

Ray ducked behind Ryan and Geoff, and Michael halted his pursuit. The scientist looked between the two of them and frowned. “Why’s this such a problem? No song’s _that_ annoying.”

“Nah, I’m with Michael on this,” said Geoff. “That song was on the radio for, what, two months? Three months?”

“It was non-stop through most of December,” said Jack.

“How would you know?” scoffed Michael.

“Hey, sometimes people brought radios with them when they visited my swamp,” the swamp monster replied.

“So, um, for those of us who, uh, _don’t…_ know…what is this…mysterious….annoying song?” the scientist asked.

Everyone stared at him.

“You mean…you’ve never heard ‘Let It Go’?” Michael asked.

“You must’ve heard it, Ryan! Everyone in the bloody world knows it!” said Gavin.

“I know you live in a fucking hole, but _come on!_ ” said Ray.

“Every time I see you, I feel a little more disappointed,” sighed Geoff.

Jack just shook his head.

“What?! I don’t really listen to music! I’m not really a music person!” said Ryan, a little frantically.

If Ryan was trying to garner some sympathy himself, it backfired horribly. Everyone was now looking at him like _he_ was the monster and _they_ were the normal humans.

“What horrible piece of shit doesn’t like fucking _music?!_ ” shouted Ray.

“Ryan, you really _are_ a bloody mentalist!” said Gavin.

Michael, however, didn’t say anything. Deep down, he knew the exact reason why Ryan probably didn’t like music; his mind drew a picture of a halved, eggy circle with six fucked-up arrows pointing at it. Since it wasn’t common knowledge at the moment, he decided, for once, to keep his mouth shut. There was enough shit going down without him pulling _that_ particular skeleton out of the closet.

“ _What?!_ ” the scientist was complaining in the meantime. “It’s not that unusual!”

“What do you _mean,_ it’s not that unusual? _Everyone_ likes _some_ sort of music, Ryan! I lived in a goddamn _swamp_ and I like music!” Jack’s fins were flared wide open, but other than that he showed no outward sign of agitation.

“It _is_ pretty goddamn weird,” agreed Geoff.

Michael crossed his arms over his chest and shuddered theatrically. “Can we just go? It’s fucking freezing out here.” Everyone looked at him. “What? I’m thinking of _you,_ assholes. _I’m_ not cold.”

Geoff shook his head. “Every fucking time…” He sighed, and a spark flew from his pulsating flame. “Fine. Let’s get out of here.” He headed back toward the SUV, Jack following behind him, and Ray and Gavin traipsing behind them. Ryan stayed behind, and reached back into the smoking depths of the defeated Camry’s engine.

“You know that car’s toast, right?” Michael asked.

“I can save it,” he whined back, “I _know_ I can.”

“Dude…” Michael grabbed Ryan’s arm and pulled him back. The scientist staggered back, nearly falling onto Michael, but the latter managed to steady him before they went down. “Let. It. Go.”

He sighed. “…You owe me a fucking car.”

“How about this: I owe you a _favor,_ cause I have no fucking money.” Michael tugged Ryan back toward the SUV. “Deal?”

“…Deal.” He shook Michael off and tucked his hands in his pockets. He glanced back at the battered, beaten and smoking car, and sighed. “I _liked_ that car.”

“ _Why?_ It was a fucking piece of shit and you _know_ it.”

“Well, yeah, but…it did its job.”

“Barely.”

They reached the SUV and peeked into the windows to see where the available seats were. Geoff sat in the passenger seat, Jack and Gavin sat in the two middle seats, and Ray slouched in the back. Ryan sighed again. “Looks like I’ve been, uh, _elected…_ to drive this time.”

“You didn’t drive here?”

“Fuck no. Geoff did.”

“What? Is this his car or something?”

“You’ll have to ask him that.” Ryan popped the door open and stepped into the driver’s seat. Michael was about to head around to the back, but paused when a sudden thought occurred to him.

“Hey, Ryan, can I have your car keys?”

The scientist stared at him. “…Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”

“Fucking hear me out before you tear my goddamn head off! I left something in your car, all right?” Ryan deliberated for a moment before pulling the keys out of his pocket and tossing them to Michael. “ _Finally._ Jesus.”

Michael ran back to the Camry and unlocked the back right door. As he suspected, Ray’s DS was lying on the middle passenger seat. _‘Stupid bastard probably left it in the car and forgot about it.’_ He scooped it up and relocked the car. Then, as an afterthought, he kicked the hubcap. He almost expected the car to fall apart like it would in a comedy, but the car just let out another _clunk_ and spewed out smoke.

“I saw that,” Ryan accused as soon as Michael got back in the car.

“Fuck off, Ryan, the car’s fucking dead.” Michael flipped the scientist off and sat down next to Ray. “You forgot this,” he said to Ray, and handed him his DS.

“Oh, shit, yeah, I guess it fell out of my pocket.” The werewolf happily grabbed the device, flipped it open and was immediately lost in the game.

“You’re welcome,” Michael grumbled.

The drive home was quick and uneventful. Practically no-one was on the road this late at night, so Ryan pushed the SUV to its limits and they zoomed down the highway. Michael let his head rest against the window and watched the landscape flash by. Most of the storefronts were closed at this hour of the night, though there was an occasional flash of light amidst the darkened windows and signs.

The gents were talking to each other in low voices. Michael did his best to eavesdrop, but someone had cranked the AC up to fucking eleven, and he heard jack shit. He huffed angrily and went back to staring out the window.

“Ryan, where in the friggin’ hell did you get this car?” asked Gavin. Thank God the Brit’s shrill voice carried so well.

“It’s not mine,” said Ryan. “Geoff found it.”

“Geoff didn’t find shit. Geoff fucking _rented_ the SUV. It wasn’t fucking cheap, either, and now I owe Burnie a fucking favor.”

“Don’t you owe Burnie, like, _fifteen_ favors?” asked Jack.

“The asshole never cashes ‘em in. It’s not _my_ fault.”

“So,” Michael interrupted, “you’re telling me…you got this fucking soccer mom, ugly ass, three mpg SUV…from Hell.”

“Well, I’m _sorry_ I couldn’t get a cooler car, Michael. I was too busy trying to figure out how to save your stupid ass!”

Michael laughed. “From what? Shitty fast food?”

The demon huffed and crossed his arms. “…Something coulda happened,” he grumbled.

“I think it was more to do with you and Burnie being low men on the totem pole than any sorta ‘urgency’,” said Ryan.

“That and you’re _pretty_ lazy,” said Jack.

“Both of you can shut your goddamn mouths. Assholes.” The demon glared out the window, and Michael could have sworn he saw something burst into flames.

After that little spat, Ryan, Geoff and Jack went back to murmuring, and Michael was once again locked out of the loop. The window offered nothing of interest, so he leaned over to see what Ray was doing.

“Oh, shit, is that Pokémon?” he asked.

Ray glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m trying to get all the Pokémon in _Pokémon Black._ I’ve done pretty much everything else by now.”

Michael nodded. “How’s that going?”

“I’m having a shitty fucking time right now. None of the rares are popping up and I’ve been walking in circles for fucking _ever._ ”

“Wow, Ray,” said Geoff, “sounds like you’ve got your virginity on lockdown.” He turned and grinned at them.

The werewolf laughed. “You kidding me? I’m just preparing for the future. If we ever need a virgin sacrifice, we’re set.”

“Aren’t…virgin sacrifices…usually…female?” asked Ryan.

“C’mon, Ryan, it’s 2014. Let’s be progressive and shit. Men can be virgin sacrifices, too.”

“I mean, _I’m_ not against it, but if some ancient apocalypse shit goes down…” He shrugged. “I don’t think the ancient texts accept male virgins.”

“Why not? It’s the same fucking difference! Neither of ‘em have had sex! It shouldn’t matter if you plow or get plowed.”

Ryan shrugged again. “It’s the whole ‘men can’t be virgins’ thing.”

“I wish _that_ was fucking true,” said Ray.

“Yeah, maybe then you’d get laid,” said Michael.

“A man can dream.”

Geoff snorted. “Yeah, I get the feeling you’re gonna be dreaming for a _long_ time, Ray.”

“That’s why I have the game – so I don’t go fucking crazy while waiting!” He proceeded to bury himself in his 3DS, and was once again lost in the battle to catch ‘em all. Michael shook his head and went back to looking out the window.

Soon enough the city yielded to strip malls, and the strip malls to yellowing fields and pastures. He watched it all go by, and couldn’t help but feel a little sad when they left Austin in the dust. _‘Back to the fucking boonies, then.’_ The undead sighed and let his eyes fall shut. _‘Fuck me.’_

Michael must have fallen asleep, for it was only a moment after shutting his eyes that they arrived at the moldering house on the hill. Everyone disembarked from the car, and Michael hastened to join them.

“So, uh, Ray,” Ryan was saying, “Michael, uh, said you…might be willing to, uh…let me…experiment…a little.”

“Oh, _God,_ you’re making it sound like some weird sex thing,” Ray groaned. “So fucking _weird_.”

“You know what I mean, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you mean. You’re still fucking weird, though.”

“That’s fair.”

Michael started and stared at them. “Are you fucking serious? _I_ call you weird and you fucking freak out, but _he_ calls you weird and you just…go with it?” Ryan shrugged. “You _are_ fucking weird, Ryan.”

“Maybe he just likes me better,” said Ray.

“Yeah, he likes the guys who’s been at his house for all of five minutes. Great logic there, Ray.” Michael rolled his eyes.

“Guys, guys,” Ryan drawled, “there’s _plenty_ of me to go around.”

Everyone stared at him.

“Please… _never_ say that again,” said Ray.

“What? It was a joke!”

“It was bloody _weird,_ Ryan!” said Gavin.

“I swear, you just get stranger every time I see you,” sighed Geoff.

The scientist sighed and pushed the sheet covering the front doorframe out his way. “So I hear.”

As they were approaching the walkway, Michael felt an elbow dig into his ribs. "Dibs on the Xbox," said Ray.

"First one there gets it," said Michael, and elbowed him back.

Gavin tried to shove the two of them aside, but his fellow Lads were more resilient than he'd expected, and he bounced back with an angry squawk. The three of them scrambled past the three gents and careened wildly for the fluttering bedsheet, but in the blink of an eye, someone was standing in their way.

Geoff folded his arms and glared at the trio. "Where the fuck d'you think _you're_ going?"

"Geoff, c'mon, you aren't my fucking _dad._ Lay off." Michael made to edge around him, but a sudden wave of heat cut him off. "The fuck?"

"You _seriously_ fucking think I'm gonna just let you walk away without...without _answering_ for what you did?" The demon hissed, and his tongue flicked out from between his fangs. "Fuck. No."

"Uh...see you later, Michael." Ray ducked around Geoff and ran into the house.

"Good luck, boi!" Gavin gave Michael the thumbs up and quickly followed Ray. They bailed on Michael as eagerly as rats from a sinking ship.

"Yeah. Fucking leave me behind, because I _deserve_ to have my ass ravaged by a demon. Fucking _pricks!_ " Michael grumbled unhappily and folded his own arms, intent on staring the demon down. It probably wouldn't work, but Michael was out of ideas at this point.

"What's going on?" The hairs on the back of Michael's neck stood on end, and he whirled around to see Ryan standing behind him, Jack coming to a halt at his side. The scientist's gaze flicked from Geoff to Michael and back to Geoff. "Why're you standing in front of my house?"

"Why-we-you - Michael fucking ran off!" Geoff spluttered wildly, sparks flying from his flame and smoke pouring out of his ears and nostrils. "You should be _just_ as mad as I am, Ryan! He stole your goddamn _car_ and _wrecked_ it! Oh, and he took Gavin with him...you know, that _project_ you were so fucking _eager_ to complete _successfully_ you let yourself go to shit for fucking _months._ "

Jack scratched at his beard and fixed his eyes on the scientist. "He's, uh, got a point, Ryan."

Ryan simply shrugged. "While...I _can't_ say...I'm terribly pleased about you stealing my car, Michael...I understand why you did it. You, uh, just wanted out, right? Get some breathing room. Um, figurativ-figuratively, of course."

The undead let out a breath. "I find it really fucking pathetic that _you,_ of all people, get me. Also, you know I don't give a shit about that stuff, Ryan."

"Oh. Uh...well..." He scratched at the back of his neck and shuffled awkwardly. "...It's the principle of the thing?"

"I don't know, _is_ it?"

Geoff goggled at them incredulously. "Are you _serious?_ "

Ryan stared at him. "What _now?_ "

"You are, without a doubt, one of the weirdest motherfuckers I've ever dealt with."

"Um...thanks?"

"That wasn't a complement, Ryan," sighed Jack.

"Of course it isn't," he grumbled. "It _never_ is."

"Do something worthy of complement, and I'll be there with a fucking bouquet of roses and a 'You weren't fucking scary today' card."

“…Do they make those?”

The demon threw his hands up. “You know what? I give up. You guys are driving me into an early grave. Now fuck off.” He spun on his heel and marched into the house.

“Now I’m curious. D’you think they make cards like that?”

Michael shrugged. “Hell if I know.”

“Sounds like something you’d buy at Spencer’s _._ ‘Hey, you didn’t fuck up today!’” quipped Jack.

The two gents moved toward the door, still chatting amiably. “I…don’t think…I’ve ever been in a Spencer’s.”

“What?! C’mon, _everyone’s_ been in Spencer’s! It’s, like, a rite of passage! It’s how you become a fucking _man!_ ” Michael swatted the sheet out of his way, quietly noting that it was smoldering in the place where Geoff had hit it. “Fuck, _I’ve_ been in a fucking Spencer’s!”

“You, uh, get anything interesting?” Ryan asked.

Michael snorted. “Why would _you_ want to know? Fucking pervert.”

“Oh, it’s one of _those_ stores.” The scientist turned toward him and grinned. “The question still stands…”

“No, Ryan. The answer to your perverted, weird-ass question is no,” said Jack.

“What he said,” agreed Michael.

“Ah. Boo.”

Michael laughed loudly. “Sorry to bust your fucking bubble, dude. Probably doesn’t help that I don’t remember jack shit about my life.”

“Really? Haven’t you been reading my, uh, the stuff I gave you?” Ryan asked.

“I read about three pages before I threw up.”

The scientist blinked. “I’m almost afraid to ask…”

“Because of a flashback, asshole. Get off your fucking high horse.”

“Was it that bad?”

The undead suppressed a shudder. “Oh yeah. It was bad.”

“Huh.” Ryan rubbed at his jaw and stared at the ceiling. “That’s…hm…”

“What is it, Ryan?” asked Jack. “C’mon, use your words.”

“I’m thinking, okay? Jesus.”

They entered the messy living room and saw the werewolf and the sewn-together undead squabbling over a controller. Ryan looked around and sighed deeply.

“What?” asked Jack.

“What d’you mean, ‘what’? Look at my goddamn living room!”

Michael looked around. Everything looked exactly the fucking same to him; blueprints tacked to the wall, food encrusted plates on the floor, and a foot of papers sitting on the coffee tables. “Um…what if…it looks exactly the fucking same to me?”

Ryan jogged forward and squatted down beside the TV. He rose with a small pile of blueprints clutched to his chest. He looked over at the two monsters standing in the doorway, looking for all the world like a child clinging on to a favorite toy. “My blueprints are on the floor, my papers are a fucking mess…what have you guys been _doing_ in here?”

“Uh, Gavin and I fucking made out on your table,” Ray deadpanned.

“What?!” squealed Gavin.

Michael and Jack burst out laughing. “Dude, was it hot?”

“Oh, yeah, it was so hot. I creamed my pants and everything.” The werewolf thrust his hips into the air and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“No we didn’t, you bastard!” Gavin squawked.

“What’s your problem? Am I not good enough for you?”

“You know what the problem is, you donut!”

“You homophobic fuck. Accept my love.”

Gavin let out a shriek and pushed himself backwards. In the confusion, Ray snatched the controller away from him and jumped onto the couch. “Oh, _what?”_

“Fucking fooled you.” Ray flopped onto the couch and booted up _Halo 3._

The sewn-together undead sat beside him and crossed his arms. “Dumb bitch,” he grumbled.

Michael shrugged at Ryan, who had watched this event unfold with wide, confused eyes. “Dude, your entire fucking house is a disaster. Nobody knows who did what.”

Ryan groaned unhappily. “I’m just gonna blame all of you and clean up this shit.”

“Really? Cause I’ll help you if you _actually_ clean up your shit,” said Jack. “And by that, I mean _completely_ clean up this fucking table and get your shit off the walls.”

“Aw, why? I _like_ my blueprints,” Ryan whined.

“Shut up and start cleaning.” Jack walked over to the nearest wall and pulled a pushpin out of one of the blueprints. It fell to the floor with a soft papery whisper.

Michael sat down next to Gavin and watched the two gents remove blueprints from the walls. “Man, guys, isn’t this _awesome?_ ” he joked. “The gang’s back together, Jack and Ryan are cleaning like fucking _bitches,_ I have no clue where Geoff went…it’s like a dream come true.”

Ray nodded. “Living the dream.”

Gavin grumbled something that Michael didn’t catch. He turned toward his fellow undead and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, Gav, what’s with the attitude?”

“He’s mad ‘cause I used my Puerto Rican wiles to trick him out of the Xbox,” said Ray.

Michael snorted. “Yeah, I saw that. It was fucking pathetic.”

“Aw, Michael…”

“What? It was the most pathetic thing I’d ever seen. Like Ray would ever kiss you.”

“I am _way_ out of your league, Frankenstein,” said Ray. His attention was slowly turning back to the television and the game he’d booted up.

Meanwhile, Jack and Ryan moved around the living room, leaving a trail of fallen blueprints in their wake. Now that they were bare, Michael saw that the walls were splintered wooden slats painted a godawful shade of puke green. “Wow. And here I thought this place couldn’t get any worse.”

“It definitely needs some TLC,” Jack agreed.

“Oh, man, I love that channel,” said Ray.

“Yeah, Ray? What’s your favorite show?”

“Uh…I’m, uh, I’m a big fan of…uh…is _Keeping Up with the_ _Kardashians_ on that channel?”

“How the fuck would I know?” asked Michael. “Uh…I don’t think so.”

“It’s not,” said another voice. All three lads jumped and saw Geoff walk out of the kitchen. The demon looked grumpy as hell and clutched a glass of brown liqueur in his left hand.

“How the fuck do you know that, Geoffrey?” Jack looked over at Geoff and raised his eyebrow. “Do you have something you want to tell us?”

“No.” The demon sipped his drink and glared balefully at his fellow monsters. “Look, a lot of demons like the show, okay? They always like shit that shows the worst in humanity. Point of personal pride down there.”

“We’re not asking about them,” said Jack. “We want to know if _you_ like the show.”

“Never cared for it. I’m more of a _Game of Thrones_ demon myself.”

“Really?” Ryan fixed Geoff with an interested stare, which meant that the blueprint he’d been removing no longer had his attention and fell right onto his head.

“Books or show?” Jack asked.

Geoff shrugged. “Who says you gotta pick?”

While the gents discussed the show, Michael turned his attention back to the game. The same cut scene he’d watched a thousand times before started rolling, and none of them were willing to watch it for the billionth time.

“Why the fuck are you playing single player, Ray?” asked Michael. “Fuck, we all know the story.”

“Who the fuck plays _Halo 3_ anymore? There’d be….what, three people in Matchmaking? Yeah, I’d _love_ to play a PVP game with four fucking people. That’d be _great._ ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ray. I’m sure you can find at _least_ four people.”

The werewolf shook his head. “We need to have a video game intervention. I’m so fucking tired of _Halo 3._ I mean, it’s a great game-”

“You don’t have to fucking tell me twice,” said Michael. “Even the best games get tedious when you play them a billion fucking times.”

“Really?” asked Gavin. “I could play _Halo 3_ forever.”

“You fucking do it, then,” said Michael.

“Hey, I won this turn fair and square!”

“No you didn’t, you gimp! You bloody cheated!”

“How did I cheat?!”

“You did your bloody…thing, and…you know!”

“Yeah, Ray, you know, your bloody thing,” said Michael. “Fucking idiot.”

“I should probably get that checked,” said Ray.

“Get what checked?”

They all jumped and looked up. Ryan stood in front of the TV, blueprints tucked under his arm and eyebrows raised.

“Goddammit,” Michael said, “why is it whenever something vaguely scientific or medical comes up, you come running?”

“It’s my superpower.”

“You’re like a bloody dog or something, Ryan,” said Gavin.

“I’m _right_ here,” said Ray.

“Why are you insulted? Dogs and wolves aren’t even the same species,” said Ryan.

“Oh.” Ray was quiet for a moment. “I’m still insulted.”

“You’re also still here,” said Michael.

“That is true. I am still here.”

Ryan shook his head. “In…any case…if something’s wrong, I’d, uh, be more than…I’d be willing to help.”

All three of them drew back into the couch and glared at the scientist. “…It was a joke,” Ray finally said.

“Oh.” Ryan blinked. “Uh…in that case…never mind, I guess.”

“Anyway,” said Michael, “we want to protest something.”

“What? What could _possibly_ be wrong now?”

“Maybe the fact that you have no fucking games,” said Ray. “If I’m staying here, I demand more games.”

“Well…maybe you should’ve grabbed some from home,” said Ryan.

“This shit was last minute, Ryan! I’m a werewolf, not a fucking seer!”

“Anyway, _we’re_ protesting too,” said Michael, and gestured to himself and Gavin. “It’s not like _we_ have games at home.”

“We don’t even have homes, Michael,” said Gavin.

“Thanks for reminding me. I completely forgot.”

Ryan bit his lip and stared at the ground. “I mean…I don’t really use this Xbox…”

“Seriously? We’re not asking _you_ to use it, _we_ want to use it! You can fuck around with your science shit all you want, _we_ just want to have something to do in the meantime!”

Jack walked up beside Ryan. He also had an armful of blueprints, and by the looks of it, he was struggling to keep them all from falling to the floor. “The fuck are you guys arguing about?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Ryan, “let’s just get these down to the lab.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

Michael flipped his back off and stuck out his tongue. “We weren’t done talking, asshole!”

“So…what exactly _were_ you guys arguing about?”

“We were just trying to give Ryan some tips on how to spruce this place up,” said Michael.

“I just want some fucking games,” said Ray.

“Oh. I see.” Jack looked around and huffed loudly. “You know what? I’m gonna talk to him about that. Maybe being back in his lab will help him calm the fuck down.” With that, he followed after Ryan and disappeared around the corner.

“Yeah, ‘cause _that’ll_ happen,” said Michael. “Fucking doubt that.”

“You and everyone else in the room,” said Ray.

Gavin, who had yet to contribute to the conversation, suddenly sat upright and pointed at the TV. “Oh!”

The other two lads looked at him. “What the fuck, Gavin?” said Michael.

“It’s bloody half past one in the morning, you gimp!”

Michael blinked and pulled out his phone. Sure enough, his phone told him it was 1:29 in the morning. “Oh. Shit.” He tucked it back in his pocket and looked at the other two lads. “Um…are you guys tired?”

Ray shrugged. “I could go for a while longer.” He yawned widely. “Okay, maybe another hour.”

“I’m off, Michael. Today was a right dog’s dinner of things.” Gavin got up, stretched, and padded toward the stairs.

“What the actual fuck does that mean?” asked Ray.

“You think I know?”

“You hang out with him. I thought you’d fucking pick shit up.”

“Ray, I don’t pick shit up. It belongs in the fucking yard. You of all people should know that.”

The werewolf narrowed his eyes, and then he looked up at the ceiling. “Okay…I _know_ that was an insult…but I’m not sure what you’re insulting.”

“I’m saying you’re a dog, Ray.”

“Oh, right, right. All right, I can be properly offended now. The fuck, dude?”

Michael shrugged and got to his feet. “You called me a zombie. I think we’re just about even, Wolfman.” Ray flipped him off. “Okay, _now_ we’re even.” He stretched and made for the stairs. “See you tomorrow…unless Ryan gets to you first.”

Ray laughed nervously and looked around. “Great. I can’t wait to be butt-fucked in the middle of the night.”

“Nah, that won’t happen. Ryan’s more of an early morning butt-fucker.”

“Because _that_ makes me feel better. Now I’ll never get to sleep.”

Michael patted his shoulder. “Glad I could help.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now go the fuck to sleep, asshole.”

He laughed and headed for the stairs. Somehow, when he entered the guestroom, Gavin was already completely asleep. Michael shrugged, kicked off his shoes, removed his necklace and flopped onto the bed. He spent several minutes staring at the ceiling before sleep finally took him.


	23. Shoot the Bull-Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael’s punishment for wrecking Ryan’s stuff is finally handed down. It’s literally bullshit.

“You _can’t_ be serious.”

Michael’s glower failed to shake Ryan in any way, shape or form. The scientist gazed calmly back at him. “Oh, I’m serious.”

“You want me…to go into the Hole…with that fucking monster you call ‘Edgar’?”

“And feed him, yes. Along with all the other shit.”

Michael slouched back in his chair and stared forlornly at the table. Everyone save Ryan was seated around the table enjoying a variety of breakfasts. Michael was in the process of cajoling Gavin to give him a bit of bacon when the scientist came out of his lab and immediately announced that Michael would be taking care of Edgar today. Duties entailed were giving him his morning and evening meal, and mucking out the pit. Michael had been apprehensive at first, and then Ryan cheerfully informed him that “mucking out” meant cleaning up the minotaur’s shit. Then Michael fucking hated his life.

“Why am I doing this?! The fuck did _I_ do?”

“Hmm…let’s see…” Ryan held up his hand and wiggled his fingers.

“Shit. He’s about to lay into your ass,” said Ray.

“Shut the hell up, Ray.”

Ryan glared at them both until they were silenced. “You used a maintenance override code on my door that cost me five hours of reprogramming to fix,” he said, and laid down a finger, “you fucked up nine of my camera feeds, which took me another _hour_ to fix, you woke Edgar up _right_ after I’d _just_ gotten him to sleep, _and_ you stole my car and fucking _wrecked_ it. You should be grateful that this is _all_ I’m making you do.”

“Isn’t there _anything_ else I can do? I will _literally_ do _anything._ ”

“Woah, careful, Michael,” said Geoff, “that could literally be taken _any_ way.” He reached out, plucked a hard-boiled egg from the bowl in the center of the table, and swallowed it whole, shell and all. “I’m saying you’ll have to suck his dick.”

“Really? I’ll fucking do it.” Michael gargled and gagged loudly, and Geoff laughed. Jack and Ray both snorted, and Gavin coughed loudly. Ryan’s disapproving gaze turned onto Geoff, who simply raised an eyebrow and flipped him off. “But seriously, I’ll do _anything_ but that.”

“Hmm…” Ryan considered it for less than a second before saying, “Nah.”

Michael slammed his head into the table. “Fuck my life.” He slowly sat back up and glared at Ryan. “And if I refuse?” he asked.

“I mean, I can’t really _force_ you to do it…it’s not something within my power… _but_ …if you _don’t_ do it…I’ll just have to find some other way to get you back.” The scientist’s tone was light and airy, like he hadn’t just threatened Michael with horrible retribution. “ _If,_ however, you _do_ do this…you’re forgiven. For everything.”

Michael groaned loudly. “Ryan, I don’t wanna do this, don’t make me do this…”

“Michael, don’t be a little bitch. Just _do_ it, you prick,” said Gavin.

“Easy for you to say, asshole! You haven’t _seen_ this fuck!”

“For once, I agree with Gavin. Just fucking do it,” said Geoff.

“Wow. Really concerned for my safety, aren’t you, Geoff? Fast food restaurants are dangerous, but giant fucking bull monsters…walk in the fucking park.”

The demon shrugged. “I figure Ryan won’t let anything happen to you.” He narrowed his eyes and hissed loudly. “… _Will_ you?”

“I mean…he might get horribly maimed…but it won’t exactly be my fault,” Ryan said quickly. “I literally have _no_ control over Edgar.”

Geoff huffed out a breath and fiddled with his mustache. “…Don’t get maimed, Michael. And _you,_ ” he pointed at Ryan, “don’t you _let_ him get maimed.”

With everyone turned against him, Michael figured he had no choice but to accept. “Fine. I’ll fucking love on your fucking abomination, Ryan.”

The scientist grinned evilly. “Great! Might as well start now, breakfast is late.” As if on cue, there was a thunderous roar from downstairs, and every single piece of china in the kitchen trembled. “He’s a little cranky.”

“Man, I am _so_ glad you’re doing this and not me,” said Ray. “I do _not_ want to go down there.”

“Yeah…about that…”

Ray choked on a mouthful of cereal. “What?! What’d I do?”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “You…promised I could take a look at you. Y’know, try to cure you and shit.”

“Oh, _that._ ” The werewolf blinked several times, and looked around at everyone. “…Now?”

“I just had a whole lot of time freed, so…yeah. Now’s as good as ever.”

“Can I at least finish my breakfast before I get my asshole probed?”

“Sure. And, uh, there will not be…any, uh…asshole…probing.”

“But that’s the best part!” When the scientist looked thoughtful rather than disgusted, Ray nearly spat out his mouthful of cereal. “It was a fucking _joke,_ Ryan!”

“I don’t know…if you _really_ want it that badly…as a good host, I should provide, right?”

“He’s got you there, Ray,” said Michael, and waggled his eyebrows.

“You…you shut your mouth,” he grumbled.

“It was a joke, Ray,” said Ryan, and he grinned widely.

The werewolf flushed angrily. “Shut the fuck up.”

Another roar sounded from the lab, and the scientist looked expectantly at Michael. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way. Fucker.”

“Hold on, I’m coming with you.” Ray knocked back the rest of his cereal and stood. “Fucking brave the jaws of death together, right?”

“Shut up. Ryan’s probably just gonna poke you with needles and shit.”

“Hey, not everyone has the same definition of ‘the jaws of death’.”

“Sure, but _you’re_ not going into the arena with the fucking Minotaur.” Ray just shrugged. “Fuck you.”

“ _He’s_ not the one who pissed me off,” said Ryan. The door to the lab swung open, so slowly Michael wondered if it was deliberate, and he grandly gestured down the staircase. “After you.”

He looked at Ray, and Ray looked at him, and then they descended the dark staircase. They heard the door swing closed behind them, and the scientist follow them into the depths of the lab. They entered the room, and Ray stopped in the doorway. “Jesus Christ, I forgot how… _weird_ this place is.”

“You haven’t really been down here that much, huh?”

“The one time I was down here I was pretty fucking out of it…and I had no idea why I was here in the first place.”

“You _were_ a werewolf when we brought you here.”

“Yeah…fucking excuse me for not wanting to come back to the place where I woke up in a fucking cell feeling like shit.” Ray walked over to the nearest table and prodded a wiry machine. “Not exactly great memories.”

“I get it, man, I get it.”

At that moment, Ryan entered the lab. Upon seeing Ray toying with the machines, he put his hands in his pockets and raised an eyebrow. “Uh…what are you doing?”

“The fuck is this thing?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Ray stopped playing with the exposed wires and fixed Ryan with an incredulous stare. “…Let me get this straight. You’re making something, and you have no idea what it even is yet.”

“It happens sometimes. I have to learn how to do wiring and shit somehow.”

“ _Why_ did I agree to let you experiment on me again?”

Ryan shrugged. “You want a cure that badly…I guess.”

The werewolf huffed loudly. “I guess so.”

“So…if you’ll sit in that chair over there…we can get started.” Ryan picked up his red toolbox and set it on the table next to the familiar, and still intimidating dentist chair.

“I’m already regretting this,” said Ray, but he sat down in the chair anyway.

“But…before we do that…Michael, follow me.” The scientist gestured toward the far wall. “Time for you to get to work.” A third thunderous roar trumpeted through the lab, and everything shuddered ominously. “He’s not getting any less hungry.”

“Aw, God fucking dammit, why am I doing this?”

“You know why-”

“I was asking _myself,_ Ryan.” The scientist sighed, but made no further comment. Instead, he led the way to a steel door beside the Jacob’s ladder machine. “The fuck’s in here?”

“Everything you’ll need to take care of Edgar.” Ryan pushed open the door and led the way inside. It looked much like a storage facility for a barn or a stable, mostly because of the large pile of hay bales in the corner. They rested on a black tarp, though it hadn’t kept several strands of hay from escaping. The entire left wall was taken up by a giant metal box that came up to Michael’s hip and radiated cold. “Well…mostly everything.”

“What do you mean, ‘mostly everything’? Are you going to give me armor or something? I am _not_ going into the arena naked, okay?”

“You’ll have exactly what I have when I take care of him.”

“I know I _should_ be reassured by that, but for some reason, I’m not.”

“Well…I can’t really argue with that…” Ryan stopped by the uber-box and slid the door back. “Anyway, Edgar needs a _lot_ of protein for breakfast, so give him about…I dunno, four or five of _these_.” He stooped and hefted a huge cube of saran wrapped meat out onto the box’s lid.

Michael goggled at the ungodly amount of bloody flesh sitting on what he figured was a cooler. “… _How_ many of these does he eat?!”

“Four or five for breakfast, and three for dinner, plus a coupla bales of hay to help wash it all down.” He gestured over to the pile of hay. “Oh, for that, you need these.” Michael only just managed to catch the stuff Ryan tossed at him. They were an ancient set of hooks with a horizontal wooden bar set at their base; Michael supposed he should be surprised that Ryan had these, but he was not.

“Okay…why the fuck do I have these…these…murder hooks?” Michael turned the rusty hooks over in his hands, and gently traced the splintered wooden bars with his fingertips.

“Hay hooks,” said Ryan.

“I thought your name was Hay _wood,_ ” said Michael.

“Very funny. What you’re _holding,_ Michael… _those_ are _hay hooks._ _They_ are for handling hale bays…fuck, I mean hay bales.”

“Did you seriously just say ‘hale bays’, Ryan? Are you fucking serious?” Michael laughed loudly, encouraged when the scientist’s cheeks turned pink. “For someone who claims to be really fucking smart, you _really_ can’t talk.”

“I can talk…I just…mess some stuff up,” said Ryan.

“Yeah, sure. ‘Some.’” Michael walked over to the cooler and peered into it. Several dozen cubes of meat rested within the refrigerated depths. There were gaps here and there, indicating where Ryan had removed Edgar’s various meals. “Jesus Christ, how many animals died for all this goddamn meat?”

“I prefer not to think about,” said Ryan. “So, let’s recap: how much meat does Edgar need to eat for breakfast?”

“Four or five,” said Michael. “And two bays of hay-fuck, I mean, bales of hay to wash it down.” He glared at Ryan when he snickered. “Don’t. Say. Anything.”

“I don’t think I have to.” He dusted his hands off and headed for the door. “Okay, yell if you need anything.”

“Wait, wait, wait, where’s the fucking body armor? I’m not going in there defenseless!”

“Oh, yeah. Here you go.” Ryan took something off a shelf and tossed it at Michael. A pair of thick leather gloves landed at his feet.

“Are you serious? That’s it?” Michael nudged the gloves with his toe and scowled. “Is that _seriously_ all you wear when you go down into the Hole with that freak?”

“Yup.”

Michael inhaled slowly and stooped to get the gloves. “…I can’t figure out if _you’re_ crazy for going down there with no protection, or if _I’m_ crazy for agreeing to do this.”

Ryan shrugged. “I made him. I know how to deal with him.”

The undead considered this while he stooped to retrieve the gloves. “Any pointers?”

“Uh…” Ryan opened the door, and turned back to look at Michael. “Duck.”

“Wow. I feel safer already.” Ryan snorted, and promptly left. Michael grumbled under his breath and pulled on the gloves. They went up to his elbows, so at least his arms were mildly safe. Everything else was obviously and probably painfully exposed. _‘If something happens to me, I hope Geoff lays into his ass.’_ He groaned loudly, grabbed the hay hooks, and walked over to the hay bales. The hooks helped him get a grip on the giant bundle of hay, and his super strength allowed him to haul it up without feeling like something would break or sprain. _‘Great. Now I just have to feed this to a fucking minotaur…without getting got. Great.’_

Michael shouldered the door open and trudged awkwardly through the lab. He somehow managed to release one of the hooks, pull open the door to the Hole, shimmy through the door, and re-grab the hook before he lost the bale. He took a moment to steel himself before walking to the end of the hallway.

Another roar sounded when he crossed the threshold into the room with the pit. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’re hungry,” Michael replied. “I’m coming, all right? I’ve got your precious hay.” He set the hay down on the floor and looked around for some sort of switch or lever to open the grate covering Edgar’s prison. A panel of buttons set into the wall looked promising, so he headed over to it and gave it a once-over. There were five buttons on the panel; three were horizontal red bars, one was a big round yellow button, and the one directly beneath it was a smaller blue button. None of them were labeled. _‘Uh…shit. How am I going to do this?’_ He gnawed on his lip for a couple of seconds while he thought, and then decided to wing it, so he closed his eyes and hit a button at random.

A loud whirring sounded from somewhere behind him, and a light flashed a warning yellow. Slowly, tauntingly, the grate leading into the hole trundled into a recess, and the moment the gap was wide enough, five clawed fingers grasped at the air, and a pair of red eyes were briefly glimpsed over the edge. Edgar landed with a tremendous _thud,_ and let out an even louder roar.

“It’s coming! Jesus!” Michael ran back over to the hay bale, grabbed one of the hooks, and dragged the bale over to the edge of the hole. Edgar stared at him, unblinking, apish hands flexing open and closed. Direct light did not soften the monster in any way, shape or form; rather, it highlighted the broad curve of his horns, the cruel sharpness of his claws, the bulk of his beastly muscle, and the heavy weight resting on his cloven hooves. He growled when Michael hesitated. The light glinted dimly off his long yellow teeth. _‘Fuck this shit. I am **not** going down there with that thing.’_

Michael pulled the bale to the edge of the pit and used the toe of his shoe to push it into the pit. It landed at the minotaur’s feet. Edgar jumped away with a trumpeting yell of fear, and then he slowly paced back to it and sniffed it. Instead of devouring the hay, he looked back up at Michael and mooed loudly. “What the fuck could you _possibly_ want now? You have your fucking hay, and I’ll bring the meat later.” Edgar lowed again and struck his hoof against the floor.

“You’re doing it wrong,” a voice sing-songed behind him. Michael whirled around and saw Ryan leaning against the wall. The biggest shit-eating smirk he’d ever seen was currently on the scientist’s face, and it took all of Michael’s willpower to not punch it off him.

“It’s not _my_ fault I was given bad instructions!” He jabbed a finger at the panel of buttons on the wall. “ _Those_ aren’t fucking labeled, and I fucking _gave_ your pet his hay, but-”

“You threw it on the floor,” said Ryan.

“Uh…”

“Edgar doesn’t eat off the floor. He’s not _that_ much of an animal.” Ryan walked over to the panel and hit the middle red button. The whirring started up again, and a large section of wall pushed out. It took Michael a few seconds to realize that it was a trough that had been built into Edgar’s hole, and a fucking huge one, too. As soon as the trough emerged, the minotaur shifted his attention to it, and reached out to dip his curled fingers into it. They came up empty, and he mooed piteously. Ryan then pressed the button above that one. A section of floor slid back, and a ladder shot up and clicked into place. He turned back to Michael. “You think you can handle it?”

“I think so.” Michael glanced over the button panel. “What do the other buttons do, exactly?”

“Well…I’m gonna ask that you _not_ hit them…”

“I asked what they _did_ , asshole.”

“The last red one is the kill switch. You hit it, the floor and every wall in there will have 120,000 volts running through it. Hopefully I won’t ever have to use it.”

Michael considered this. “Question.”

“Yo.”

“Why is this in here, and not down in there with Edgar?”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “…Because I value my life?”

“What do you… _oh._ Right. I guess…electrocuting yourself…would kinda defeat the purpose, huh?”

“It would, yeah.”

“So…what does the blue button do?”

“Let’s just say…Edgar would no longer be the one in the hole.”

“Okay. Got it. Don’t hit the last red button, and don’t hit the blue button.” Michael gave Ryan the thumbs up. “Now, how do I make this picky fuck eat his goddamn breakfast?”

Ryan sighed deeply. “One: start with the meat. Two: put the meat _in_ his trough. Three: Give him the hay _after_ he’s done with the meat.”

“See? See how fucking _easy_ that was?! Why didn’t you _start_ with that?”

“I didn’t think it’d be necessary. Clearly I overestimated your intelligence.” He shook his head. “Really, Michael?”

“…Fuck off.”

“If you say so.” Ryan turned smartly on his heel and walked out of the Hole. Michael cursed and followed after him. _‘Okay, I’ll fucking start all over then. Fucking meat first; why didn’t he **start** with that? Fucking idiot.’_

He walked all the way back to the storage area, got a giant meat cube out of the cooler, and hauled it all the way back to the Hole. _‘God, do I **really** have to go down there with him? Couldn’t I just…’ _He ripped open the cellophane covering the meat, and the instant the flesh was exposed, Edgar went fucking nuts. The mutant bull roared and leaped into the air, clawed hands reaching for Michael. Drool frothed at his maw and dripped down his chin in bubbly silver strands. He paced around his prison, eyes never leaving Michael, and chuffed loudly. Michael grimaced and picked at the red flesh. A large strip came away from the main cube easily; apparently, this was not an actual cube of flesh, but a whole lot of cuts packaged in a cube. He dangled it over the gaping maw of the trough, and dropped it. Edgar jumped toward the falling meat, caught it between his teeth, and slurped it down. His long pink tongue lapped at his chops while his eyes reverted back to Michael. He snorted and trembled where he stood.

Without further ado, Michael tipped the still semi-wrapped cuboid forward and dumped the rest of the meat into the trough. About half of it landed where it was supposed to, while the other half splattered noisily on the ground and was trampled beneath the minotaur’s pounding hooves. He caught several cuts in his mouth before scooping handfuls of dripping meat from the trough and ripping them apart. Specks of blood and meat spattered all over the walls and dribbled onto the floor, and for a moment, Michael was so consumed with how awful the scene was he forgot this was only a fifth or a quarter of the beast’s morning meal. Now he had to get more meat for the slavering cow before the thing decided he was on the menu.

While he was hauling the second cube through the lab, he caught sight of Ryan bent over Ray, doing God knew what with him. “How’s it going?” asked Ryan.

“Fucking great.”

“…You didn’t go down there with him, did you?”

“How could you _possibly_ tell?!”

The scientist shrugged. “Well, maybe it’s just me, but, uh, I’d thought…if you actually went _down_ there with him…you’d be freaking out a lot more.” He turned and glared sternly at him over the lenses of his glasses. “You probably dumped all the fucking meat on the ground.”

“Not all of it!” said Michael, a little too quickly. “More like…half of it.”

Ryan sighed. “I never thought _you,_ of all people, would be a fucking pussy.”

“What did you call me?”

“He called you a pussy,” said Ray. “You gonna take that, or…?”

“I’ll fucking show _you_ ‘pussy’!”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat, or are you, uh, trying to seduce me?”

Michael opened his mouth, reconsidered his insult, shut his mouth, and eventually said, “…You know what I meant, asshole!” The scientist laughed softly and turned back toward Ray. “Motherfucker.”

Two minutes later, he stared into the depths of the Hole. Edgar stomped around his prison, tracking chunky red hoofprints wherever he went. Drool strands slicked his jaw and sparkled in his chest fur, and the beast would pause periodically to lap at his chops with his drippy pink tongue. _‘Fuck, am I **really** going in there? Do I have **that** much of a death wish?’ _Well, he supposed he didn’t have a choice. After all, this was the only way Ryan would get off his ass and forgive him for all the shit he’d done. _‘I still think that car was not worth getting my ass shredded by a giant cow monster.’_

Michael sighed deeply, pulled the meat cube close to his chest, and descended the ladder. The moment he was in range, Edgar charged toward him. One tremendous gnarled hand swiped across the ladder and ricocheted off with a loud clang. Michael only just managed to drop to the floor before he was cut in two. He hit the hay and dung covered ground and jogged over to the trough. The beast roared loudly, snapped his jaws and charged again. The ground trembled with every step Edgar took, and Michael had to concentrate both on keeping his balance and avoiding the monster’s next attack.

An unexpected stroke of luck befell Michael when his foot caught one of the fallen pieces of meat, and he crashed to the ground just when another swipe would have taken his head off. The luck swiftly left him when a large hoof stamped down on his leg and crushed every bone from his knee to his foot. “Holy _fuck!_ ” he screeched. “Get the fuck off me!” He squirmed and pulled his leg out from under Edgar’s hoof. It was twisted and mangled, and blood oozed from nearly every inch of pale skin he could see. “I’m just trying to feed you, asshole!”

The bull roared loudly and scooped up a dripping handful of tarlike blood. He sniffed at it and lapped up a mouthful of the stuff. The second his tongue met blood, Edgar let out a horrible gagging sound and tossed his head. Michael used the time Edgar spent reeling to fill the trough with meat, and to get the hay bale off the floor as well. In the meantime, the minotaur huffed, retched and vomited chunks of meat all over the floor…which meant Michael had even more work ahead of him. “Are you fucking serious? You are the _biggest_ tool on the planet, you know that?”

To his surprise, Edgar mooed loudly and sat down in the corner. He looked over at Michael, who could have sworn he was getting some serious stink-eye. “What? The fuck did I do? You’re the one who broke my leg!” He pointed to the limb in question, which was already healing; bones loudly popped back into place while the skin zipped itself closed. “ _And_ you tried to eat me! Wait…hold on…” Michael walked over to Edgar, who snorted loudly and smacked his tail against the floor. “…you’re mad…because I taste _bad?_ ” The only acknowledgement he got was an ear flick in his general direction. “Are you fucking _serious?_ ” Michael was stunned by this newfound knowledge; his only reaction was to start laughing. “Holy shit! That’s fucking…oh my God, I can’t believe it!”

Michael stepped away from the trough, which was now full to the brim with bloody meat and hay. Edgar stomped over and buried his snout in the meat, snapped up large chunks and swallowed them whole. Michael stood only two feet away from the hulking beast, and he wasn’t going completely apeshit. Apparently, Michael’s blood was so gross that it had destroyed any interest Edgar had in him. The undead considered his next course of action, and decided to risk more bodily harm; he reached out and touched Edgar’s furry shoulder.

His fur was soft, much softer than Michael expected, though it was a little on the oily side. Edgar’s ear twitched, and he fixed Michael with an unblinking red-eyed stare. His upper lip curled and he growled softly. “What? I’m not hurting you.” Edgar opened his mouth and nibbled halfheartedly on Michael’s hand. The moment his tongue touched Michael’s pale flesh, the bull recoiled and tried to get the taste out of his mouth. “Coulda told you that would happen.” The undead laughed and headed up the ladder. Suddenly, being a demonically risen undead whatever wasn’t so bad.

Ray was sitting on top of one of the tables when Michael reentered the lab proper. He caught the werewolf’s eye, and Ray sat up straight. His eyes widened as Michael came into better view. “Holy fucking shit, what the hell happened to you?”

“Huh?” Michael looked himself over and caught sight of his ripped and bloodied jeans leg. The leg itself was almost healed of all its hurts, but the clothing looked fucking horrific. “Oh, _that._ Yeah, uh, I got fucking stepped on by a giant cow monster.”

“Jesus.” Ray shook his head and jumped off the table. “It, uh, sounded pretty bad in there. I almost thought he’d tried to eat you or something.”

“Funny you say that, Ray…”

“What? _Did_ he try to eat you? Oh my fucking God, that is disgusting.”

“No! Well, sort of, I guess. Long story short, I taste like shit, and he couldn’t care less about me.”

“Huh. Well, uh, good for you. I guess.”

“I mean, it could be worse.” Michael looked around to see where Ryan was, but there was no sign of the scientist anywhere. “So, where’s your only hope for humanity?”

“Fuck if I know. He said something about getting some of his…fucking…mad science shit so he could learn more about my ‘condition’.” Ray held up his hands and made air quotes around the last word. “His word, not mine.”

“Has he even _done_ anything yet?”

“Not really. I basically got a checkup, and then he left to get his shit.”

“Wow. Sounds like loads of fun.”

“Man, I am having so much fun. You wouldn’t believe the fun I’m having right now.” Ray leaned back against the table, shoved his hands in his pockets, and groaned loudly. “Fuck.”

“Well, I have to finish looking after Mr. Giant Hairy Asshole, so I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, then.”

“Now that he’s not trying to kill me…” Michael shrugged. “Who the fuck knows?”

He headed back into the storage room, retrieved the hay hooks, and picked up another bale of hay. Then an idea occurred to him; he got the next two meat blocks out of the cooler and stacked them on top of the bale of hay. He hefted the burden easily, and wondered why the hell he hadn’t done this in the first place. _‘I keep forgetting how fucking strong I am now. Holy shit.’_

Ryan still wasn’t back when he reentered the lab, so he went straight back into the Hole. This time, several of the other creatures shrieked and squealed at him, but he ignored them and proceeded into Edgar’s prison. He roared when Michael entered, and the undead simply dangled his bloodied foot over the Hole. The moment the bull got a whiff of black blood, he went quiet and walked over to his trough. _‘Man, Ryan is gonna flip his shit when I tell him about this,’_ Michael thought. He set the hay bale down, picked up the meat and descended the ladder. “Here’s the rest of your food, Edgar. Hope it’s everything you hoped for.” The minotaur mooed loudly and snuffled at the cellophane-wrapped cubes. He smacked his slavering chops and pawed at the ground. “Jesus, it’s fucking coming already.” Michael ripped off the cling wrap and filled the trough back up with meat. Edgar scooped up a handful of meat as soon as it touched the trough and gobbled it down eagerly. He sat down with a loud thud, his tail switching eagerly over the floor. Michael scratched behind one of Edgar’s horns; the bull acknowledged him with a soft moo. _‘Man, good thing I taste bad…fuck, mark that down as something I’d never thought I’d say.’_

Last, but certainly not least, he pulled the hay bale down into the hole and stacked it precariously on top of the meat. Edgar didn’t even blink at him this time. He was far too busy eating his breakfast to give Michael the time of day. Now he had to muck out the cow’s hole, which Michael was _really_ not looking forward to. The minotaur’s shit was a lot more noticeable and smelly since he was no longer focused on preserving his life, and most of the pats were about the size of a bike’s wheel. _‘I take it back. I fucking hate my life.’_

Before he could start on that, he had to find materials with which he could actually clean the place. For that, he would have to find Ryan. In the meantime, Michael exited the hole and hit the button to close the grate over Edgar, though it seemed he was unable to get out anyway. Maybe it was just so Ryan wouldn’t fall in? _‘Who the fuck knows why the hell Ryan does anything.’_

This time, Ryan was back in the lab and tending to Ray. The brain-scanning wok was back out and precariously perched on Ray’s head; all Michael could see of him were his lips and chin. Ryan was bustling around him, adjusting wires and pulling on the straps.

"So...why are we doing this?" Ray asked.

"I told you, I want to see if your brain is any different from a normal human's."

"And this will help cure me...how?"

Ryan sighed and moved away. "Ray, nobody knows what, exactly, causes lycanthropy. Is it a virus that causes genetic mutation? Is it an evil spirit? I have no fucking clue." He sat on the table next to the chair and took out his tablet. "If I don't know what causes it, the chances of me finding a cure are infaniteser...infantesib...they're really fucking small. So, if I _am_ going to find a cure, I need to figure out what lycanthropy is. Which means...I need to become familiar with your body."

Michael choked back a laugh, and watched Ray turn bright red. "Ryan, Jesus, you _have_ to work on your fucking phrasing. My God."

"What? I have to know how everything works!"

"Next time, fucking _start_ with that!” said Ray. “With this fucking thing on my head, and what you said before...holy fuck, I was seriously starting to think you were gonna rail me as part of some weird mad science fetish."

Ryan, who had just taken a sip of a nearby Diet Coke, choked and spat it out. "What?! No!"

"Aw, am I not good enough for you?"

“No – I mean yes – fuck, I’m just…let’s just get this over with.” Ryan plugged the wires into another machine and pulled out his tablet. “You fucking assholes, I swear to God…”

Though Michael would have loved to watch this shit go down, he had other things to do. “Hey, Ryan, where d’you keep your fucking cleaning stuff?”

“Hmm?” The scientist looked up from his tablet and blinked dumbly. “Cleaning stuff?”

“Y’know, for Edgar’s hole.”

“Oh, right. Further back in the storage area. You’ll know it when you see it.” Ryan immediately returned to his tablet and tapped on the screen. “Ooooh…that’s interesting…”

“What? What’s interesting?” Ray fidgeted and looked around. “What’s going on?”

“Stop moving! You’re gonna mess it up!”

“Then fucking tell me what’s interesting!”

Michael had to leave at that moment, but he could still hear their banter from halfway across the room. If he hadn’t had the idea to jack Ryan’s car, maybe he could have seen this shit through to the very end, but…well…he had to clean up literal bullshit. Bullshit the size of trashcan lids.

_‘Fucking kill me.’_

* * *

 

Two hours of scraping, scrubbing and all around misery later, Michael left the Hole for the last time. By the time he left, Edgar had settled down for a nap, which was a huge fucking relief. The minotaur might not have been hostile anymore, but he _had_ lifted his tail and dropped a huge pile of turds on a section of floor Michael had already cleaned. If he’d been anything besides a giant fucking monster, Michael would have ripped into his ass like there was no tomorrow, but he was indeed a giant fucking monster, so the undead just scowled and retrieved his shovel. He could have sworn Edgar laughed at him while he cleaned up the fresh shit.

He walked back into the lab and sagged against a nearby table. Michael wasn’t tired physically, but he sure as hell was tired of shit. He probably stank of shit too, but had been so desensitized to it by now that he couldn’t tell anymore. Someone would tell him eventually. _‘God, what I wouldn’t give for a fucking shower…’_

“Did you have fun, then?”

Michael glared at the scientist’s punchably smug face. “Go fuck yourself in the ass.”

Ryan laughed, louder and more genuinely than he ever had before. “Glad to hear it.”

He snorted and pushed himself upright. “Yeah, well, at least he fell asleep while I was cleaning the cage. Fuck, he stopped bothering me during his feeding.”

_That_ wiped the smile off Ryan’s face. “Wh-What?”

Michael shrugged as nonchalantly as he could managed. “Apparently he doesn’t like the taste of undead meat. Not that _I’m_ complaining.”

Ryan blinked dumbly at him. “What?”

“Your giant cow…abomination… _thing…_ doesn’t like how I taste,” Michael said. “Why is that so fucking hard to grasp?”

Ryan sagged back against a table and gripped its edge tightly. “He…doesn’t attack you? But… _how?!_ I’ve been trying to figure that out for fucking _years!_ How could you do it in…in…two fucking hours?!”

“I… _literally…_ just told you. Fucking pay attention, asshole.” Michael shook his head. “And _you’re_ supposed to be the smart one.”

The scientist took several seconds to process this new information. Eventually, he grabbed Michael’s shoulder and spun him around. “Show me.”

So much for being done with the Hole. Michael groaned unhappily and walked back toward the steel door. “Will you get off my ass if I show you?”

“I already said I’d forgive you if you took care of Edgar today, didn’t I?”

“You did, but…wait, _today?_ I’m not done?!”

“Nope.”

“Aw, come _on!_ I’m fucking done with this shit…literally! If I see one more giant fucking turd, I’m gonna kill something.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t feed him again until dinner time, which is in…” Ryan pulled out his phone and checked the time. “…seven hours.”

“Thanks, Ryan, that _really_ makes me feel better.”

The scientist tucked his phone back in his pocket and pulled the door to the Hole open. “Well, if you _really_ feel bad, I can change your punishment.”

Michael knew he should feel relieved, but instead his still heart clenched and an unpleasant stone settled in the pit of his stomach. “…What the fuck would you do instead?”

“Oh, you know…I _still_ don’t have any idea how a demonically-risen undead body works…so I’d like to see how everything… _inside_ …looks. I’d get you on my table, cut you open, have a look around…” Ryan shrugged. “Normally, I’d give you anesthesia, but…considering your undead status…you’d probably only get drunk or something.”

The image of being strapped to a table with Ryan pawing around his guts nearly overwhelmed Michael. The sick feeling in his stomach spread up into his chest, and he fought a sudden urge to barf. “Or…I can just show you how Edgar doesn’t like how I smell or taste.”

The scientist grinned at him. “Thought so.”

Together, they approached Edgar’s prison. The minotaur roared and leaped up toward them. “So…what, _exactly,_ did you do?” asked Ryan.

Michael looked down at the dried blood on his pant leg, and knew what he would have to do. “Scalpel.”

Ryan looked at him. “What?”

“You’re a fucking mad scientist! I _know_ you have a scalpel on you somewhere!”

He scoffed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not as crazy as you think I am. I usually don’t…” Ryan’s face fell, and he withdrew not one, but four scalpels from his left pocket. “…Fuck.”

“You usually don’t fuck? No wonder you’re so crazy, Ryan. Invent a fucking fleshlight for yourself, or a sex robot, or, hell, just invest in some fucking lotion and tissues.”

“…I don’t…want to…” He handed one of the scalpels to Michael and returned the rest to his pocket. “Just show me.”

Michael took the scalpel and drew it across his wrist before he could rethink his actions. Unfortunately, the scalpel didn’t draw blood, so he had to push it into his wrist and pull it a lot more slowly. Every fiber of skin screamed as the blade pushed through them, and the scalpel snapped by the time it reached his ulna. It had the intended effect, however; thick black blood welled around the broken blade and dribbled down either side of his wrist. Edgar immediately calmed, and walked over to the wall where his trough was concealed.

He looked over at Ryan, whose jaw had dropped at the sight. “Happy now?” he asked. Edgar mooed loudly and pawed at the ground.

“I…I don’t get it…how is this any different from normal?”

“Um…I’m dead. That’s pretty different from normal.” Michael grabbed the broken scalpel blade between his index finger and thumb, and attempted to remove it. After a good deal of wiggling, the bloody blade inched out of his tough skin, and with one final tug, it came free. He glared at the scalpel blade and tossed it away. “I probably taste like rotten meat, brah.”

“Huh.” Ryan sat down beside the metal grating and stared at Edgar. “I…I never considered that. Huh.”

“Is your mind fucking blown?”

“It’s…it’s definitely hard to grasp.” He reached out and gingerly picked up the discarded scalpel blade. “He doesn’t like the way you taste or smell…I can work with that.” He tucked the blade into his pocket and stood. “You…don’t have to feed Edgar this afternoon.”

Michael blinked. “I’m…I’m off the hook? Really?”

“Yup.” Ryan walked back toward the exit, and Michael hastened to follow him. “Considering you just solved a problem I’ve been struggling with for several years now…it’s the least I can do.”

“Sweet! I didn’t have to do shit!” He whooped and pumped his fist. The motion wafted the scent of stale shit into his face, and his smile slipped. “Fucking hell, I still smell fucking awful.” A thought occurred to him when he followed Ryan out of the Hole and into the lab. “Ryan?”

“Yo.”

“Why don’t _you_ ever smell fucking awful when you clean that fuck’s hole? Do you have a shower down here or something?”

“Maybe I’m just better at this than you.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“What? I’ve been doing it for _way_ longer than you have.”

“That wouldn’t stop shit from getting on you.” Michael glared at him. “Do you use shit that I didn’t?”

“…Maybe?”

“You fucker!”

“It was a _punishment,_ ” said Ryan. “You were being _punished._ I wasn’t exactly going to make it _easy_ for you.”

They walked back over to the dentist chair, where Ray was waiting with his arms crossed. He looked over at Michael and gagged. “Oh my God you smell like shit.” Michael flipped him off. “What? I’m just stating a fact.”

“You haven’t been up to your ass in shit for two hours, Ray.”

“No, but I’ve been fucking molested by Dr. Frankenstein here,” he replied

“It’s not molestation since I have your consent,” said Ryan.

“Not the point. You won’t fucking tell me what’s wrong with me! Oh, there’s something wrong with my brain, but, y’know, it’s not like I’d care or anything.”

“I _told_ you, I need more data before I can figure out what _exactly_ is different about your brain.”

“But you know _something’s_ wrong, right?!”

“The only _really_ noticeable thing was the unusual size of your olfactory sensors…but…other than that…nothing’s really obvious.” Ryan pulled out his red toolbox and cracked it open. “Now, if you’ll hold out your arm…” He pulled out his vacuum tube, a needle, and a set of test tubes. “…I’ll take some blood samples, and I guess we’ll be done for now.”

Ray paled and edged away from him. “I don’t like needles.”

“It’ll help me find any abnormalities in your blood, but…if you’re too much of a pussy…” Ryan shrugged. “We don’t have to…”

The werewolf glared at him, and held out his arm. He flipped Ryan off and looked away from his arm. “Just do it quickly.”

Ryan tied a blue strip of rubber around his elbow and tapped his arm to bring out the vein. “Trust me, this will _really_ help. Anyway, what have you been doing since you left?”

“Uh…I mean…not much. I _do_ have a job, though they weren’t really happy-” Ryan stuck the needle into Ray’s elbow. The werewolf whimpered, but managed to keep talking. “- _happy_ with, with me being gone f-for a couple of days. I have fuck all vacation days as it is.”

“Oh really?” Ryan pulled the first tube of blood out of the vacuum tube and attached the second. “That sucks.”

“Do you still work at GameStop, Ray?” asked Michael.

“There’s not much else for me to do,” said Ray. “That whole no college thing, y’know.”

“Yeah, well, fuck college. I didn’t go either.” He looked over at Ryan and smirked. “I bet you have a fuckton of degrees, Mr. Scientist.”

“Not really. I only have two. And one’s an associate’s, it doesn’t really count.”

“Yeah, what degrees do you have? Creepy Fuckery and Corpse Cutting?”

“Fuck no, and that’s called Forensic Science, and I don’t have that either.” Ryan pulled the second tube free and attached the third. He kept his eyes on his work, but Michael could still see the blush spread over his cheeks. “I have a degree in computer animation, and, uh…and…a degree in theater.”

Both Ray and Michael stared at him. “ _You…_ of all people…have a degree in fucking _theater?_ ” asked Michael. A laugh bubbled in his throat, and he could see a small smile touch the edge of Ray’s lips. “No wonder you’re so melodramatic!”

“I never really _acted,_ ” said Ryan, though his blush darkened and spread down to his neck. “I just worked on the lighting.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Ray. “A likely story.”

“I bet you were the hot dude who banged all the understudies,” said Michael.

“Only dudes, though,” said Ray.

“Absolutely.” The third tube filled with blood, and Ryan attached a fourth. “Jesus, Ryan, how much fucking blood do you need? At this point, you might as well drain him dry!”

“Four’s a perfectly normal sample size,” said Ryan. “Gives me plenty to work with.”

“What are you gonna test for, anyway? STDs?”

“I have a lot of those,” said Ray.

“Uh…I was gonna do all the basics first. Cell count, glucose content, organ function, that sort of thing. Then I was gonna move onto diseases and shit. If anything’s abnormal _there…_ well, we’ll see.” Ryan capped the final tube off and yanked the needle out of Ray’s arm. “All right, you can look.”

Ray squinted at his elbow, and relaxed when he saw the needle was out. “Oh thank God.”

“Pussy,” said Michael.

“Yeah, well, fuck you.” The werewolf flipped Michael off and stuck out his tongue.

“I _seem_ to remember a certain undead fucker _refusing_ to give me his arm until I told him to grow a pair,” said Ryan. “So…uh…real pot-kettle-black scenario, huh?”

“Fuck you, Ryan.”

“You know it’s true.”

“Really? _You’re_ giving _me_ shit about needles? You’re fucking _dead!_ It probably didn’t even _hurt!_ ”

Michael glared at Ray. “I still feel pain, asshole.”

“Really? Huh, that’s unexpected.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Ryan.”

“Aww. Boo.” He put the blood samples aside and stood upright. “Okay, well, if I’m gonna figure out what’s wrong with you…I’m…gonna need more data.”

“Like what?” Ray also stood and faced Ryan. He rubbed his sore elbow with the palm of his hand. “You’ve scanned my brain, felt me up and taken my blood. What else could you _possibly_ need?”

Ryan adjusted his glasses and took a deep breath. “I need to see you as an _actual_ werewolf. Like, with fur and shit.”

Both Michael and Ray started. “But…there isn’t gonna be another full moon for…like…a fucking month or something,” said Michael.

“Besides, why the hell would I want to do that?” asked Ray. “Also, seriously, _you’re_ human. I, uh, you’re, uh, my…prey. I could eat you, and…not in a good way.”

“Is there really a good way to be eaten?”

Michael snorted loudly. “You know, for a fucking mad scientist, you _sure_ are a vanilla old man.” Ryan looked up at the ceiling and bit his lip. “You don’t even know what that means, do you?”

“Anyway,” the scientist continued, “I’ll need Ray to be a werewolf to _really_ see what’s changing, but…” He pulled out his phone, unlocked it and tapped on the screen for several seconds. “…next full moon isn’t until November 6th or 7th.”

“And today is…?”

“October –”

“Too long,” said Ray. “Looks like you’re shit outta luck.”

“ _Or_ ,” said Ryan, “I can contact a friend of mine, and it won’t be a problem.”

The two monsters stared at him, mouths wide open. “…You have other friends?” Michael finally asked.

“No. I mean, yeah, but…um…well…he’s more of a business associate than a friend, I guess.”

“Now _that_ I can believe. What I _can’t_ believe is that you have an ‘associate’ who can make Ray wolf out without a full moon.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, is it _really_ that hard to believe? You live in a house with a mad scientist, a swamp monster, a demon, a werewolf, and a Frankensteinian horror. Hell, _you_ were _revived_ by magic. _You,_ of all people, should be _completely_ open to the possibilities of the supernatural.”

“He has a point,” said Ray.

“Besides,” said Ryan, “he _might_ be able to help you, too. He’s pretty good with spells, curses, and all things magical. It…could be a chance for you to get your memory back.”

It took about half a second for Michael to think about this. “The fuck are we still doing here? Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over Thanksgiving Break, I binged-watched the entirety of Avatar: The Last Airbender. I have to say, Flopsie looks almost exactly like Edgar does in my head, only less gorilla, pitch black, and with a bull's head.
> 
> Also, I hope everyone has a lovely holiday season, and a happy New Year!


	24. Warlock and Load

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get a little magic in their lives…in that they meet a warlock and his familiar.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Michael chafed at the bit, ready to leave the house and find the guy who’d give him his memory back. Ryan and Ray were practically dragging their fucking heels, and the undead’s admittedly low patience was running out. He bounced up and down beside the front sheet, and scowled when the two R’s were nowhere to be found. _‘What the fuck are you guys even doing? Jerking off? 69ing? Hurry up!’_

Eventually, they both came down the hall and approached the door. “What took you fucks so long? I’ve been waiting here for fucking _ever._ ”

“You were only here for _maybe_ ten minutes,” said Ryan.

“I don’t give a shit. The fuck were you guys even _doing?_ ”

“Eating lunch,” said Ray. “I can’t run on nothing like you.”

“Nor can I,” said Ryan.

“Fucking losers.” He pushed the front sheet outside and stepped onto the porch. The light blinded him, and he recoiled with a hiss. “What the fuck am I gonna do about the fucking sunlight?!”

“It’s not gonna hurt you,” said Ray. “You’re not a fucking vampire.”

“No, but he’s about as combustible as one,” said Ryan. “Last time he went out during the daytime, he caught on fire.”

“Holy shit, really?”

“Yeah…I did.” The memory of fire nearly consumed Michael whole, but he managed not to succumb. “I…don’t ever want to do it again.”

“Oh.”

An air of awkwardness settled over the trio. Several minutes passed before Ryan finally spoke. “You know…I’m getting _really_ tired of seeing this fucking sheet.” He poked the front sheet with his index finger. “Fucking security risk.”

“Then get rid of it.”

“Do you know how hard it is to find a solid steel door designed to look like an old wooden one?”

“How the fuck would I?” asked Michael.

“Let me tell you – it’s not easy.”

“That still doesn’t help me survive in the sunlight.”

“Give me a minute.” Ryan sprinted back into the house, and came back with a flimsy black umbrella. “It’s not great, but it’ll do.” Michael grabbed it and put it over his head. He felt marginally better, but still relatively unprotected.

They descended the porch and walked around the house. Ryan’s defeated Camry rested beside the ancient siding, hood up and doors open. “What the fuck? When did you get your car back?” Michael walked up to it, but thought better of it when Ryan glowered at him. He’d learned his fucking lesson already. No more shit-cleaning for him.

“I… _reminded_ Geoff that, uh, with certain conditions being what they are…it’s better to have it here than to leave it in some lot. Maybe it can be fixed, maybe it has to be scrapped, but at least it’s here.” Ryan patted the Camry’s roof and continued around to the back of the house. “When I have time, I’ll work on it.”

“So it’ll never get done,” Ray muttered to Michael.

“Probably not,” said Michael.

“The fuck are you guys talking about back there?”

“What’s that whole ‘certain conditions’ thing about, anyway?” asked Ray. “I know he’s being a fucking vague asshole, but, uh…what the fuck’s he talking about?”

“Uh…” Michael glanced at Ryan, whose gaze was flicking from him to Ray and back again. He quirked a brow at him when he caught the undead looking at him. “…Maybe if you suck his dick he’ll tell you,” he said, and made sure to pitch his voice so Ryan heard him.

The scientist went red and Ray snorted. “Yeah, sure. I’ll use extra tongue, too.” He stuck his tongue out, waggled it back and forth and gargled loudly.

Ryan turned away and coughed loudly. “Anyway…let’s head out.” He practically sprinted to his SUV and popped the door open.

“Oh, yeah, this thing. How long do we have it, anyway?” Michael hopped into the passenger seat and settled into the seat. “I mean, I _know_ it’s a rental from Hell, but, I mean, it’s still a rental.”

“I have no idea. If you’re _that_ worried about it, ask Geoff.”

“As long as it gets the job done, I don’t give a shit.”

“Well, it _does_ do that, at least.” Ryan started the SUV and drove toward the fence. It shambled faithfully out of the way, and they made their long and winding way toward the main highway. Michael watched the yellowy grass fly by the window, and clutched his umbrella tightly. Bright, deadly sunlight warmed the windowpane; he reflexively drew his right arm closer to his side.

Thirty minutes of driving later, they pulled into a lot in front of an empty storefront. “Uh…is this where your friend is?” asked Ray.

“No. Parking’s free here.” Ryan switched the car off and popped open the door. “It’s a bit of a walk, though, so, uh…keep to the shade, Michael.”

“Thanks, Ryan. I’ll remember you when I burn to a goddamn crisp.” He eased the umbrella out of the door and popped it open. Several plumes of smoke wafted from his arm, but other than that Michael was all right. He stepped out and squinted at his surroundings. “Where the fuck are we going, anyway?”

“Just follow me.” Ryan spun on his heel and walked toward a busy intersection. Ray and Michael looked at each other and trailed after him.

“Maybe this _wasn’t_ such a good idea,” said Ray.

Michael looked over at him. “C’mon, Ray, it’s not _that_ bad.”

“Says the guy who’ll apparently burst into flames if the fucking _sun_ touches him.”

“Hey, I’m safe under my umbrella.”

“Ey, ey, ey,” sang Ray.

Michael snorted. “You’re not welcome under my umbrella, Ray.”

“That’s not how the song goes.”

They continued down the road, past the intersection and stopped beside an apartment complex. Though the apartment complex was spacious and clean, it was otherwise unremarkable. “Ryan, are you sure this is the right place?” asked Ray.

“Positive. Just follow me.” Ryan headed for the nearest building and stopped beside apartment number 39. “This is it.”

The other two stopped beside the door and eyed the chipped golden numbers suspiciously. “Ryan…this is…really fucking underwhelming. I just want you to know that,” said Michael.

“I know, I know. Give me a minute.” Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out a post-it note. “Uh…right…” He lifted his other hand and knocked on the door. Then he knocked again, and again after that. After a pause, he knocked again, paused, knocked twice in a row, paused, knocked twice more, knocked, paused again, and knocked one last time. It was the most ridiculous and elaborate secret knock Michael had ever heard. _‘The fuck is this, the Mafia? Holy fuck.’_

Ryan drew back after the last knock and tucked the note into his pocket. Barely fifteen seconds later, a series of jangles and clanks sounded, and the door slowly creaked open. “Oh, good, I got that right. I thought I spelled that wrong for a second.”

“What would’ve happened if you, uh, _spelled_ it wrong?” asked Ray.

“Uh…I _think_ …we…would have been…well, if we were lucky, we’d be turned into slugs.”

“And if we were unlucky?”

“I’d…rather not think about it.”

Ryan ushered them through the door and into the most extraordinary looking apartment either the undead or the werewolf had ever seen. Bookshelves lined every wall in the place and stretched up toward an impossibly high ceiling and skylight. Various books, bottles, plants and other assorted objects floated in between the shelves in neat little lines; some found places on the shelves, while others continued to float in the open air. One line in particular passed about six inches in front of Michael’s nose. Dumbfounded, he watched a set of leather-bound books, a glowing red potion, a silky red box, _Shadow of the Colossus_ for the PS2, and a sleeping cat on a purple cushion drift lazily through the air. The cushion stopped in front of Michael, and the cat yawned loudly and stretched before turning to face Michael. Its eyes were pupilless royal purple with lighter purple sclerae, and several grey spines stuck out of its face and ran down its back. Other than that, it appeared to be a normal greyish-brown tabby cat. It blinked once at Michael, leaped onto a nearby shelf and vanished.

“Well, if he didn’t know we were here, he does now,” said Ryan.

“ _Is_ he even here?” Michael whispered. “This place is so fucking weird and….no, it’s pretty much just weird.”

“Why are you whispering?” asked Ray.

“I feel like I’m in a fucking library or something, I don’t know.” Michael walked over to the nearest bookshelf and examined several of the books. He quickly gave up when none of the titles were in a language he could read. “Does anybody else feel like they’re being watched?”

“Yes,” said Ray.

“Nah,” said Ryan.

“Of course _you_ feel fine,” said Michael. “Fucking paranoid asshole.”

“How does _that_ make me paranoid?!”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that every inch of your shitty house has a fucking camera?”

“Fucking Man-With-A-Thousand-Cameras over here,” muttered Ray.

Ryan took a deep breath and pushed his glasses onto his nose. “Let’s just get what we came for and go home, all right?”

“How? Your friend’s not even here!”

“Oh, he’s here. We just haven’t seen him yet.”

Michael blinked. “Well, _that’s_ not ominous or anything.”

Ryan put his hands in his pockets and ambled towards the nearest bookshelf. “It’s one of the games he likes to play. He’s, uh, a bit of, uh, a bit of a troll.”

“He’s a fucking terrible troll if he’s hiding from paying customers.”

“Well…you’re not wrong…”

Michael wandered off into another row of bookshelves. “We’d better find this fuck. I’m not gonna wait all day for this guy to _maybe_ show himself.” If Ryan had responded, the surrounding shelves swallowed his words. “That’s what I thought.”

He wandered deeper into the maze of books. Most of them were leather-bound, though he saw a few paperbacks here and there. One shelf was entirely devoted to Nintendo 64 games, but when Michael stopped to peruse them, his body froze in place while the entire shelf slid into the wall. Books would sometimes drift off their shelves and into a nearby line of shit; several of them nearly collided with Michael in the process. There were no signs or lights or anything that might indicate a direction in which he could travel, and the endless shelves of books made Michael’s head spin.

Finally, after what felt like a fucking eternity of vanishing, rearranging and plain boring shelves, Michael entered a circular clearing. The skylight was directly overhead; its light illuminated a plush armchair, an HDTV on a wooden TV stand, a bed laden with books and video games, and two different desks. One had a simple laptop, while the other had what looked an awful lot like Ryan’s chemistry setup in his lab, complete with burners and glass jars. Michael looked around for any sign of Ryan’s ‘associate’, but saw nothing. “Hello?” he called. “Anybody here?”

“You’re late.” The voice was directly behind Michael. He jumped and spun around, which resulted in him falling on his ass. There was nothing behind him. Bewildered, he looked around for the source of the voice.

A young man sat with his legs crossed on the air several yards above his head. Michael automatically checked him for wires, but found nothing. Besides the pointed hat and black robes, he looked pretty normal. He wore a t-shirt, jeans, sneakers and glasses. As Michael watched, he sank down toward the ground, and unfolded his legs just in time for his feet to meet earth.

All Michael could say was, “Uh....what the fuck?”

“You're late,” the man repeated. “You should have been here...” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a saucer-sized pocket watch that had fourteen hands, no numbers, and an incredibly detailed night sky background. “...fifteen minutes and thirty five seconds ago.” The strange man put the watch back into his pocket. “I _keep_ telling Ryan that it's okay to park in the guest lot, but does he ever listen? No, no, he just parks in front of that empty store, and says it saves money that way.” He shook his head. “He does some stupid shit for a smart guy.”

Michael still couldn't process what was happening. “What...who the hell are you?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” The stranger held out his hand. “I’m Kdin. Kdin Jenzen. I’m, uh, a warlock for hire. If it’s magical, I’ll see if I can help. I make no promises, though.” Kdin peered at Michael over the tops of his glasses. “I don’t recognize you…considering the color of your eyes and skin, though…are you dead?”

“No?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m undead. Like, raised from the dead.”

Kdin nodded solemnly. “Thought so.” He put his hands in the pockets of his robe and stepped back. “What does Ryan want this time, and what does it have to do with that werewolf?”

“Ask him, if you’re so damn curious. I’m here for _me._ ”

“If you’re going to ask me to bring you fully back to life, I’m sorry, but I can’t. Even demons don’t have that kind of power.”

“I wasn’t going to ask that! There’s some sort of spell on me, and I want it gone!”

The warlock blinked. “Um…do you mean…you want to be dead again?”

“No, the _other_ spell!”

“Well…I’ll see what Ryan wants. Then…hmm…” Kdin strolled toward the nearest bookshelf and vanished as soon as his feet left the carpet. Michael swore and ran down the aisle, but neither hide nor hair of the warlock remained. _‘This is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever seen…and that’s fucking saying something.’_

By the time Michael managed to find Kdin again, the warlock had found Ryan and was listening to him speak. There was no sign of Ray anywhere; he supposed the werewolf was still lost in the maze of bookshelves. He slowed his frantic pace and stood beside Ryan. Neither person acknowledged his arrival.

“So, do you have anything like that, Kdin, or know what I should look for?” Ryan asked.

Kdin sucked in a breath through his teeth. “I probably do, but it’s _so_ fucking _risky,_ Ryan. Why would you even _want_ to?”

“It’s for my experiments. I’m trying to find a cure for lycanthropy, but the differences between a werewolf in human form and a regular human are too insignificant for me to really do anything with. I need to see him in his different stages.”

“I’m not surprised, but…” Kdin glanced at a nearby bookshelf. A book bound in blue and gold leather pulled itself off the shelf, soared over to Kdin, and opened. He turned several pages before finding what he was looking for. “You’re playing with fire, Ryan. If you’re not careful, he could fucking _eat_ you.”

“I know the risks.”

“Sure you do, but it never stops you.” Kdin ran his finger down the page. “Now, there’s…hold on.” He whistled loudly, and the strange cat leaped down from a shelf overhead and onto his shoulder. “Find, uh, what’s his name?”

“Ray,” said Ryan.

“Find Ray and bring him here. I think he needs to hear this himself.” The cat jumped onto the floor and sprinted into the maze.

“Why’s that?” asked Ryan.

“He needs to know his options. _You_ may be performing the experiments, but _he’ll_ be the one having to suffer all this shit.”

They stood in complete silence for several moments. It was several moments too long for Michael’s liking. “So, uh, what is, uh, what kind of cat is…your cat?”

Both Ryan and Kdin looked at him like he had cockroaches crawling out of his ears. “Yama’s not actually a cat,” the warlock finally said.

Michael snorted loudly. “Yeah, he just _looks_ like a cat, right? Get the fuck outta here.”

“That’s exactly it, actually. Trust me, you _don’t_ want to see what he’s _actually_ like.”

“Yeah? What _is_ he actually like?”

“In his true form, he’s about sixty feet long, twenty feet high and covered in scales.”

“Uh…what?”

“He’s, um, actually a dragon.”

This time, Michael actually laughed out loud. “Bull _shit_ he’s a dragon. I think someone’s jerking you around, Kdin.”

The warlock scowled. “Considering _I’m_ the one who made him look like a cat, I highly fucking doubt it.”

“Why’d you do that? Cats suck _so_ much, dude.”

Kdin sighed deeply, and Ryan took a step back. “Why do you _think_ I turned him into a cat? Do you _really_ think the city of Austin, Texas, wouldn’t notice a giant black dragon flying around? I don’t know if you know this, but there are a _lot_ more non-magic assholes than there were back in the day. If anyone realizes I’m a warlock, not only will I be completely and totally outnumbered and arrested, jailed and possibly killed, _but_ I could get in _huge_ trouble with the Grand High Order of…of…Really Powerful Sorcerer Guys.”

“I… _think_ …you mean the Grand High Order of Magi,” said Ryan.

“Same difference.”

“You know,” said Michael, “like I said before, for a guy who claims to know _nothing_ about magic, you sure know a _lot_ about magic.”

The scientist shrugged. “I have a friend who’s a demon. I pick up some stuff here and there.”

“Is he really a friend if you-” Ryan’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Never mind.”

A loud hiss sounded from behind them, and they turned to see the dragon-cat-thing – Yama? – leading Ray toward them. “ _There_ you are,” said Ryan. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I stayed near the entrance. I’m not getting lost in this shit.” Ray looked cautiously around at the bookshelves. “I’m only here because the cat wouldn’t stop tugging on my shoelaces until I followed it.” The cat hissed again and meandered over to Kdin. It wound around his feet and rumbled so loudly the ground beneath Michael’s feet trembled. Steam curled out of its nostrils. “The fuck is wrong with that thing?”

“Apparently he’s actually a dragon, Ray,” said Michael. Yama looked at him, and Michael realized there were two nubby grey horns sticking out of his head. His unblinking gaze unsettled him. “He’s fucking weird enough.”

“Anyway,” said Kdin, “I called you here ‘cause I thought you should hear your options. Like I said to Ryan, since _you’re_ the one who’s gonna have to endure whatever shit’s in this book, I thought I would lay out your options.”

“So,” said Ryan, “what _are_ our options?”

“Well,” said Kdin, “I can use a variety of transmogrification spells to change Ray into his wolf form, but he wouldn’t change back until I cast the counter-curse.”

“So he’d be stuck until we came back here,” said Ryan.

“Uh, yeah, fuck that,” said Ray. “It’s bad enough being stuck for _one_ night.”

“There’s also a wolfsbane potion I can…no, that wouldn’t work.”

“Isn’t Ray fucking allergic to wolfsbane?”

“That’s why it wouldn’t work. It _would_ cause him to change into a werewolf…but he’d probably die in the process.”

“Yeah…no.”

“Uh…” Kdin scanned the rest of the page. “No…no…might work, but I don’t have the right ingredients…too fucking expensive…oh, fuck, it’s so obvious! Why didn’t I think of this before?”

“What?” asked Ryan.

“Moonstone! It’s slow to act, and you’ll need to store it in a lead-lined box, but it’s reliable, Ray won’t be stuck one way or the other, and he won’t have to drink or eat anything. It’s not exactly the greatest experience in the world, but if you’re _really_ serious about this experimenting shit – and I know you are – then moonstone is your best bet.”

“Uh…how not great is ‘not the greatest experience in the world’?” Ray asked.

“Um, well…it’ll hurt…about as much as your first time did,” said Kdin.

Michael snickered, and Ryan smiled just a little bit, but Ray paled. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yup.”

“My first time was _horrible_. I never want to live through that again.”

“First time doing what? Having sex?” Michael joked.

“My first time turning into a werewolf,” said Ray.

The smile fell off Michael’s face and smashed to the ground. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry.”

The werewolf looked at him. His pupils had dilated to tiny little dots. “It was _so_ fucking bad. I’ll…I’ll never forget it, not if I live to be a million fucking years old.”

Kdin looked at Michael solemnly. “Imagine every bone in your body breaking at the same time in slow motion. Then imagine a hundred thousand needles growing beneath your skin while every muscle in your body burns. And _then_ imagine a feeling _kinda_ like being knocked unconscious, except you feel every single animalistic instinct overtake you, all while the previous shit is still happening. _That’s_ how most werewolves describe their first time turning.”

Throughout Kdin’s description, Ray had gone white as a sheet and wrapped his arms around himself. “Dude…fucking _stop_ already…” he whispered.

“Sorry,” said Kdin. He waved his hand, and the color immediately returned to Ray’s face. “Does that help? It’s an anti-anxiety spell. Made it up myself.”

“That is _so_ weird…but thanks. That’s better.” Ray took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “So…moonstone is the _best_ option, even if it’s painful as hell?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Then…I guess I’ll do it.”

Kdin nodded and turned to Ryan. “Satisfied?”

Ryan nodded. “Works for me.”

“Great. It’ll cost ya, though. Moonstone’s not fucking cheap.” Ryan reached into his jeans pocket. “More than that.”

He glared at the warlock and pulled out his wallet. “I have…forty, sixty, eighty…I have two hundred and fifty-eight dollars! What else could you _possibly_ need?!”

“You _know_ I deal in mystic shit! It’s two hundred _plus_ whatever magical artifact or rare objects you can dig up, and _I_ decide whether or not it’s worth the trouble.”

Ryan swore loudly and patted himself down. “C’mon… _come on…_ I’ve gotta have _something…_ ”

Michael cleared his throat. “Can, uh, _I_ make a suggestion?”

“What could you _possibly_ have?” Ryan snapped. He was digging around in his lab pockets, still searching for any valuables.

“Dude, I’m fucking undead! My whole _body_ is valuable!” He looked over at Kdin. “Um… _is_ my body valuable? I don’t actually know.”

“Uh…well…yeah, I guess it’s…pretty valuable. Why do you ask?”

“I need your help. Geo…a demon used a spell to-”

“You know, you can just say ‘Geoff’. I know who he is.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. I should’ve known _he’d_ have something to do with you. Your incomplete spell just _reeks_ of his laziness.” Kdin crossed his arms. “Okay, so Geoff put some spell on you besides the one that resurrected you, and it pissed you off.”

“He wiped my fucking memories! I want them back. You can have whatever fucking body part you want if you can give me my memories.”

“Michael…” said Ryan.

“Back off, Ryan! This is _my_ problem, and I’m gonna do whatever the fuck it takes to fix it.”

“C’mon, Ryan. Let him live his life,” said Ray.

In the meantime, Kdin looked at Michael and locked eyes with him. His irises turned purple, and all the hair on Michael’s body stood up straight. High overhead, the light was doused; the only thing Michael could see were two pairs of glowing purple eyes. Something brushed against Michael’s ankles, and his entire body stiffened. His own muscles were holding him in place. Those glowing eyes bored into his own, and a sudden feeling of exposure came over him. He felt like a bug in a jar, forever searching for a place to hide that would never come, all while some asshole kid watched him scramble around. Then the skylight blazed into brilliant light, and the purple faded from Kdin’s eyes. Michael’s muscles relaxed, and he sagged against the bookshelf. “What the fuck was that?”

“I scanned you. I know everything about all the spells put on you. You were _supposed_ to be an undead servant, but, to the surprise of absolutely no-one, Geoff botched the spell. Not only do you have free will, but you don’t have access to your memories.”

“I don’t _have_ my memories.”

“No, you don’t have _access_ to your memories. Nothing’s missing. All your memories are there.”

“But I can’t _remember_ them! If they’re there, why can’t I remember?!”

“Michael,” Ryan interrupted, “think of it like this. Your brain’s like a computer, right?”

“Sure,” said Michael.

“And your memories are like files, right?”

“Okay…”

“If what Kdin says is true…”

“It is,” said Kdin.

“Your memories are basically behind a firewall right now. They haven’t been deleted, you just don’t have the right permissions to access them. Do you understand?”

“I get it,” said Ray, a little mockingly.

“Shut up, Ray. Yeah, I get it. So…I need to hack my own brain?”

“You have, just a little bit. You get your memories back whenever you read anything about your life, right?”

“You didn’t remember me at first, either, but you did, eventually,” said Ray. “Took you way too long though.”

“Shut up. I remember you _now_.” He stuck his tongue out at Ray and turned back to Kdin. “Anyway, can you help me remember? I _think_ it’s a separate spell.”

“It is,” said Ryan, Kdin, and Ray at the same time.

“How the fuck do _you_ assholes know?!” Ryan and Ray both looked away from him. “Oh, _come_ the _fuck_ on!”

“It _is_ a separate spell,” said Kdin, “but…well…even if it _is_ Geoff…it’s a demon spell. That’s pretty much the darkest magic in the…well, it’s the darkest magic possible. It’s _so_ fucking hard to undo. It’s _possible,_ but it’s _really_ fucking risky. A lot can go wrong if you don’t know your shit.”

“But… _you_ know, right?”

“I don’t _know_ know, but…I might as well _try._ I’ll need to consult some books though…and maybe get my affairs in order, I don’t know.” He turned back to Ryan. “ _Your_ stuff’s easy. I should have moonstone around here somewhere.” With that, the warlock snapped his fingers and vanished. Yama jumped onto a nearby bookshelf, yawned, curled up, and promptly fell asleep.

“So…what now?” Ray asked.

“Now we wait,” said Ryan.

“I don’t _wanna_ wait,” said Michael. “I’m _so_ fucking close to getting my memories back! I can _feel_ it.”

“Michael, don’t get your hopes up. Kdin’s powerful, but even the most powerful warlocks in the world struggle to break demon spells. Demons are basically _made_ of magic. Humans can’t even _begin_ to compare.”

“Wow, Ryan. Way to be a fucking downer.”

“I’m just telling it like it is. Quit your bitching.”

“Fuck you! I’m having a miserable fucking time! I’m fucking _allowed_ to bitch… _bitch_.”

“Oooh, you got fucking _rekt,_ ” said Ray. Ryan just rolled his eyes.

They waited for what felt like an eternity. Michael checked out the nearby bookshelves while Ryan and Ray played with their phones. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t decipher the books’ titles, so he sat down and pulled out his own phone. One unread text blinked at him; upon opening it, he saw that it was from Geoff. _‘Well…shit.’_

 **Demon Asshole: the fuck are you guys?** (Sent 1:02 p.m.)

Mjones: out (Sent 1:06 p.m.)

 **Demon Asshole: I figured that out** (Sent 1:06 p.m.) **  
dickhead** (Sent 1:06 p.m.)  
**I meant where ARE you** (Sent 1:07 p.m.)

Mjones: I’m out with ry and ray (Sent 1:07 p.m.)

 **Demon Asshole: answer the fucking question** (Sent 1:08 p.m.)

Mjones: I did (Sent 1:08 p.m.)

 **Demon Asshole: “out” is not an answer asshole** (Sent 1:08 p.m.)

Mjones: it’s true. I’m out (Sent 1:09 p.m.)  
as in I’m not in ry’s house (Sent 1:09 p.m.)

 **Demon Asshole: Where. Are. You.** (Sent 1:10 p.m.)

Mjones: I don’t know (Sent 1:10 p.m.)

 **Demon Asshole: ha ha very funny** (Sent 1:10 p.m.)  
**but seriously where the fucking hell are you** (Sent 1:11 p.m.)

Mjones: I seriously don’t know (Sent 1:11 p.m.)

 **Demon Asshole: what do you mean you don’t know** (Sent 1:11 p.m.)

At that moment, Michael felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He looked up from his phone and saw Kdin floating several feet above him. Seven open books surrounded him, and his dragon-cat-familiar-thing lay in his lap. Had he found something?

Mjones: g2g (Sent 1:13 p.m.)

He tucked his phone back in his pocket. Seconds later, it buzzed angrily, but he ignored it. “Hey, Kdin, you find anything?” he asked. “Or you just jerking off up there?”

“I think so, yeah. If this book is correct, then, well, I should be able to help you no problem. There’s a _lot_ that can go wrong, though.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“I mean, we’re talking total memory loss, possible loss of will, consumption by hellfire, banishment to the deepest, darkest pits of hell…fun stuff like that.”

Michael stepped closer to Kdin and craned his neck so he could lock eyes with the warlock. “If you can help me…I’ll fucking do _anything._ I don’t give a shit what the risks are, and I don’t care what I’ll lose! My life has sucked _so_ much ass since I was resurrected! Having my memory back would make it suck a _little_ bit less. I’ll give you _anything_ if you can help. _Please_.”

Kdin looked away. “Here’s that moonstone, Ryan.” He tossed something at Ryan, who only just managed to catch it. “Don’t open it now.”

Ryan cradled the box in one hand and examined it. “Jesus, how much moonstone did you put in here?”

“It’s…it’s a necklace. It’s…forty-eight pieces of moonstone on a silver chain.” Ryan stared at him. “What? It’s all I had. You’re lucky I just decided to _give_ it to you.”

“Does more mean a faster transformation, or…?” asked Ray.

“I don’t actually know, so I’m just gonna say ‘maybe’,” said Kdin.

“Great. Thanks.”

Ryan pulled his wallet back out and counted out a stack of twenty dollar bills. “Here’s your two hundred.”  He tossed the wad of money toward Kdin. The bills immediately unrolled and fluttered back down to the ground. “Fuck.”

“Oh, dude, Ryan’s making it rain,” said Ray.

Every single bill disappeared before it could touch the ground. At about the same time, Kdin drifted down to the ground. The books still circled him like vultures, and Michael caught a glimpse of writing similar to the characters upon his back. “Well, that’s taken care of. Now for you, I guess.” He got up and turned toward Michael. I’ll need a minute to get prepared.”

“What?! You spent, like, an _hour_ getting prepared! What _more_ could you _possibly_ need?!”

“I have all the information I need. I just need to set everything up.” Kdin’s eyes glowed again, but this time, purple light radiated from his hands. Yama hissed and jumped away. He brought his hands up, his index fingers pointing toward the skylight, and brought them down in a circle. A bubble of purple energy formed around him, and a sigil flared into life beneath his feet. He looked over at Ryan and Ray, who stared at him with wide, incredulous eyes. “You two might want to stand back.” Yama darted forward and stood in front of the retreating pair. “All right, I _should_ be safe. This could get messy, so…” With another wave of his hand, all the bookshelves and various miscellanea vanished, leaving only them and a large, empty room. “Okay. Okay. I think I’m ready now.”

“Are you?” Michael asked.

“Not really…shit, I can’t think about it.” The purple light dimmed for a moment. The warlock blinked, and it blazed back into bright life. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Well, _I’m_ fucking ready enough for both of us.”

Purple lightning crackled in the air, and a deep growl sounded from his right. “Who knows, maybe that’ll be enough.” Then a blast of purple rushed toward Michael, and exploded into a whiteness that consumed everything.


	25. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victory is attained, but at what cost?

The spell his Michael with the force of an Amtrak train. He staggered back and fell on his ass. Compared to the blinding whiteness engulfing his mind, the shock of the fall was minimal. Something… _foreign_ charged into his brain and tore through his memories. It ran through everything he’d built up until the moment he’d entered Kdin’s apartment, and then-

Everything burst into a million tiny fragments and vanished into the ether. All of his memories, all of his hopes, all of his fears, even his name shattered and dissipated into the surrounding nothingness. He screamed and lunged after the pieces, but they eluded him. His mind was a hive of emptiness; it throbbed and burned from the sting of a billion tiny wounds, where once his memories had lived and thrived. Desperate fingers clawed at the emptiness, trying to put something, _anything_ back into the gaping tear.

“Holy _fuck_ this is harder than I thought. Jesus Christ why did I agree to this?!” He turned on the shouting voice. The horrible emptiness was an itch he couldn’t scratch, a horrible burning infection in his brain, and it drove him wild. He lunged blindly, hit a wall and spun away. Anger swelled in his chest; he snarled like a rabid animal and lunged again. Another wall smacked him in the face and sent him flying. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is bad. This is _really_ bad.”

“The fuck did you _do?!_ ” He roared wordlessly at this new voice and charged. The wall hit him again. This time he pushed against it with all his might, but it would not yield. He punched it. It would not yield. He kicked it. It would not yield. He clawed at it. It still would not yield.

“It’s a fucking counter-curse! Geoff must’ve realized he might use me to break his spell! And _holy shit_ is it a fucking _powerful_ one!”

“What?! How could you not see a fucking _counter-curse?_ I thought you _scanned him!”_

“It’s fucking _demon magic!_ The shit I don’t know about demon magic could probably fill a book! Hell, it could fill an _entire_ set of encyclopedias!”

“Will you fucks stop screaming at each other already?! Fucking help Michael, assholes!”

There were too many voices surrounding him; they burned in his throbbing head like salt on an open wound. The relief he so desperately needed was not coming. He put his hands on his ears and pushed down as hard as he could. The voices were blocked out, but the awful emptiness returned in full force. White noise rang deep within his head, too deep for him to muffle. He screamed again and dug his nails into his scalp. There was no pain that could possibly compare to his suffering brain, but he attempted to drown it out anyway.

“Ryan, there’s a shelf filled with potion bottles near my entertainment center. I need you to get the green potion labelled ‘POWER UP’. D’you think you can get it?”

“How?! Everything’s _gone._ ”

“Give me a fucking _break_ already…” Energy ran down his skin in hot, uncomfortable frissions. He howled and spun in circles, clawing madly at the open air. The world itself had turned against him, but he wasn’t going down without a fight. “Hurry up! I can’t hold it much longer!” He charged at the wall again, and felt it crumble like mud and gravel before him. “ _Fuck!_ ”

A loud roar reverberated from his right, and something struck his side and sent him flying. Hot claws encircled his ribcage and pushed him down to the ground. Unlike the physical pain of running into the walls or clawing at himself, the heat caused pain to flare throughout his body. Fear laced his anger and claimed his mind. Deep within the whiteness, a blue and orange flame sparked into sudden life. At the same time, a clear fragment of memory drifted through his empty brain and lodged for a brief moment.

_“…the undead traditionally **are** weak against fire…”_

Danger. He was in danger. Fire wrapped around his chest and threatened to sear into his skin. His mind was newly torn asunder by the urgent need to flee, and he struggled beneath the weight. “Hold him, Yama! Fucking _hold_ him!” A growl sounded from overhead, and the claws closed tighter around him. He squinted to try and see what was attacking him, but all he saw was white emptiness. He kicked out at his captor, and was rewarded with something shifting to pin his legs, too.

“Okay, I found the potion! What do you want me to do?”

“Give it to me! _Now!_ ”

“But you’re-”

“Just _throw it!_ ”

Panic overwhelmed him; he screeched and wriggled beneath the weight of his prison. Fire seared through the nothingness and threatened to consume him. His hands flattened against the floor and he pushed as hard as he could in a desperate attempt to free himself.

There was a hollow _pop_ sound, and something clattered on the floor. “Okay, okay, I think I’m ready to try-”

A black spot formed in the heart of the fire, and then exploded into darkness that consumed the rest of his mind.

* * *

 

He was in an empty alleyway. Screams echoed from the far end and bounced in his head. Panic swirled in his gut, and he ran toward the screaming. No matter how quickly he moved, he couldn’t get close to where the screams came from. Six gunshots roared through the night, and he looked down to see five bloody stains unifying on his shirt. The world spun, and he fell towards the pavement. His head cracked on the pavement, and he lay bleeding in the gutter.

_“Who are you? Fuck off and let me sleep.”_

The voice sounded from somewhere nearby, but his cloudy vision prevented him from seeing who it was, or where they were. It was familiar, so familiar he couldn’t help but reach for it.

_“Sorry, bud. It’s time for you to get up.”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“That’s why I’m here.”_

_“What can **you** do? I’m **dead**.”_

_“Well…again…that’s why I’m here.”_

He rocked himself onto his belly and dragged himself off the curb and into the gutter.

_“What can you **possibly** do to bring me back?”_

_“Well…I **am** a demon. It shouldn’t be that hard.”_

_“Don’t be retarded. Demons aren’t real.”_

A long, smeared trail of blood formed in his wake while he dragged himself down the street. The blood loss was crippling, but his will was strong, and he pulled himself toward the voices. It had taken him some time, but he had finally recognized the familiar voice as his own. Who he was talking to, and what they were talking about, he still didn’t know, but it fueled his attempts to reach the talking pair.

_A laugh. “Well, supposedly there’s no life after death, yet here we both are.”_

_“I…I guess…you do have a point. **Now** can you leave me alone?”_

_“Nope. Sorry.”_

_“Then…the fuck are you here for?”_

_“I’m bringing you back, dude. I’m your ticket back to Earth.”_

His eyes widened, and he felt more of his strength return to him. The tickle in his brain increased, but it was not unpleasant this time. He pushed himself to his feet and patted his chest. Though his clothes were soaked with blood, his wounds had vanished. Emboldened by this sudden healing, he staggered toward the two voices.

_“What? You…you’re gonna send me home?”_

_“Well…you’ll be back, at least?”_

_“Will everything go back to – wait, what do you mean ‘I’ll be back’? I’m not the goddamn Terminator.”_

_“It’s…well, it’s not going to be the same. It **can’t** be the same.”_

_“Then why the hell would I want this? Leave me alone.”_

_“I keep telling you, I can’t. I literally can’t just leave you here. I’ve been, uh, hired to bring you back. Since I was, um, paid in advance…turning away would be really fucking bad for both of us.”_

_“What? Hired? You…you mean…did Lindsay ask you to do this?”_

The name drifted into his mind like it usually did, but instead of vanishing or fading into the darkness, it stuck in his mind and festered. It itched and chafed at his brain, irritating the raw wounds still present in his mind. He scowled and picked up his pace.

_“I didn’t say that.”_

_“No-one else cares **that** much about me. She’s the only one who’d be stupid and sappy enough to try shit like this.”_

_“Michael…”_

_“Fucking hell, she **did** do this! That fucking **idiot**! She’s so stupid, I can’t believe she’d **do** this! Fuck…I…I guess she just really misses me or something…God, I miss her too. I can’t wait to see her again.”_

_“I…Michael…you can’t see her. You can’t ever see her again.”_

_“What do you mean I can’t see her again? What happened? Is she hurt? Is she dead? Oh, she’d **better** not be fucking dead! I’ll fucking kill the guy who fucking **dared** to touch her! I swear to fucking Jesus Christ on a goddamn stick I’ll shred the fucker!”_

_“Michael, calm down!”_

_“Calm down? Fuck you, ‘calm down’!”_

Out of nowhere, burning rage rose in him like boiling water. The anger was familiar and foreign at the same time. This conversation was not taking place anywhere near him. It was inside his own skull, and the anger was his own, though neither were something he ever recalled occurring. It had been forgotten, but why?

_“Jesus fucking Christ, Michael, fucking calm down already! She’s perfectly fine! The fucking picture of health!”_

_“Then why the fucking hell can’t I see her again, huh? Tell me that, if you’re such a fucking powerful demon!”_

_“Michael, I’m warning you, don’t be a prick!”_

_“Then fucking tell me what I need to know!”_

_“I’m trying to **help** you!”_

_“Then **TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED TO MY WIFE!** ”_

A light appeared in the darkness and swallowed the alleyway whole. His eyes widened, his body went slack, and his brain throbbed.

He _knew._

He _remembered._

He remembered who _she_ was.

Her name was Lindsay Jones, and she was his wife. She had come into his life just at the time when he thought he would spend his life by himself. She was the last thing he’d expected to happen to him. She was a dynamo of dirty jokes and raucous laughter, and she crashed into his life like a tidal wave and swept him away. She was his best friend, his confidant, his partner in crime, and eventually became his better half and love of his life. She was a lot like him, but different enough to keep him on his toes. His bleak, lonely life ebbed into memory, while their lives unfolded before them, and everything fell neatly into place. They married after a year and a half long engagement and were ready for the next big steps. And then…and then…

_It was after midnight, and the party had just ended. They were walking back to the parking garage so they could go home. It was only a block and a half away from the bar. There was no reason for them to feel unsafe while walking back to their car._

_“Thank God **that’s** over,” said Michael. “I thought the asshole would **never** shut the hell up.” His mind felt a little fuzzy; he’d drunk several beers, and the combination of time and numerous beverages were starting to have an effect on him._

_“Hey, I’m glad you came,” said Lindsay. She grinned at him and bumped shoulders. “I say we go home and play_ Mario Kart _until we pass out.”_

_“Now **that** I can get behind! I am gonna **destroy** your ass, Lindsay.”_

_“Not if I destroy yours first, bitch.”_

_He laughed loudly. “I’d like to see you try!”_

_She turned, and they locked eyes. Her lips had parted; she was about to say something else, a rebuttal, perhaps. The words would never come. He heard a heavy_ thunk, _and Lindsay fell to the ground in a limp heap. It took Michael’s fuzzy mind a few seconds to grasp what was happening, and by that time the man in the hoodie had taken Lindsay’s purse and was sprinting for the alley. Rage sparked and ignited into an inferno of blind, drunken rage, and he chased after the thief who had violently clubbed his wife._

_Upon seeing Michael lunging after him, the thief raised his gun and fired. The bullet hit the lens of Michael’s glasses and ricocheted off. The glasses were ripped off his face and clattered noisily on the ground, leaving him with only a scratch. Instead of running away or calling the cops, Michael’s rage only grew, and he increased his pace. His fist connected with the hood’s cheek, and he stumbled into the wall of the alley. Michael punched him three more times before he realized he needed to get rid of the gun. He grappled with the thief for several moments, but at the moment when the gun was flush with his belly, he shoved the thief up against the wall, and the action caused the hand holding the gun to close, and the gun fired again._

_One moment, Michael was fine. The next, a horrible pain started in his guts, and he staggered away. Blood fanned over his front and dripped down his thighs. The hood, now freed, stepped toward him, lifted the gun, and fired again. The muzzle flash illuminated his thin, fearful face. Pain flared up in his shoulder, and Michael staggered even further backwards. He backed out of the alley, onto the sidewalk, and stepped off the curb. He fell and brained himself on the concrete. Stunned, helpless, he could only watch as the hood approached him, took a deep breath, and shot him three more times. When the gun clicked, the hood turned tail and ran away, leaving Michael to bleed out in the gutter of a downtown Austin sidewalk. Even though he was dying, even though he’d been shot six times and had five fatal wounds, Lindsay was all he could think about. He attempted to look for her, but his body would not respond. Cold numbed his limbs and blackness descended over his vision. His voice, weakened by death, gurgling with blood, called for her. “Li…Linds…Lind…say…Lindsay…”_

_Then he was gone._

* * *

 

Michael returned to full consciousness much like a deep sea swimmer would breach the surface of the ocean. He pushed himself onto his feet and shook himself like a dog. A migraine the likes of which he hadn’t had since he had died currently stabbed him in between the eyes, and he felt like he was going to throw up, shit his pants, faint, or possibly all three at the same time. Even so, he felt lighter than he had in so long. For the first time since he dug himself out of his grave, Michael’s memories were whole. He knew who he was, what he had done, who his friends, family and loved ones were. He even remembered his own botched resurrection, or, at least, a fragment of it. Most importantly of all, he remembered how much he loved Lindsay. She was no longer just an unknown face, or a name with no feelings attached to it. He laughed once and rubbed at his face with his hands. His hands came away damp and dripping.

Then he noticed that nobody was there. He was alone in the maze of bookshelves, and it was deathly quiet. All the flying objects had fallen to the ground; several potion flasks had shattered and spilled their contents over the floor. Michael picked his way over the debris and headed into the twisting warrens of bookshelves. It took him forty long minutes of wandering the never-ending corridors to find the others in the clearing with Kdin’s entertainment center and potion set.

Kdin lay against the flank of a giant black dragon. If it wasn’t for the purple-on-purple eyes, Michael wouldn’t have believed that it and the cat were the same being. The beast had long, pointed grey horns and matching spines that ran the length of its spine and serpentine tail. One great black wing was extended to form an awning for the fallen warlock. Its muzzle rested in his lap, and it rumbled quietly every once in a while. The warlock’s face was chalky white, and he shook like a leaf in a turbulent wind. A cup of golden liquid rested on the dragon’s nose, and occasionally Kdin would grasp the handle and sup at the steaming brew. Ryan and Ray were both sitting on the messy bed. All three of them looked over at Michael when he approached. He supposed the dragon was looking at him too, but it was hard to tell with those pupilless eyes.

“Mi…Michael.” Kdin’s voice was a hoarse whisper that Michael had to strain to hear. “I…I’m sorry I…we didn’t stay with you…I just…”

“The fuck happened?” Michael asked.

“Kdin fainted,” said Ryan. “It was only a couple minutes ago.”

“What?! How?”

“I had to undo not only a tough-as-shit counter-curse, but also one of the most powerful fucking binding spells I have ever encountered. Not only _that,_ but I was nearly consumed by…by…I guess a layman would call it ‘demonic power’. I’m so fucking lucky that I _only_ fainted.” Yama’s nostrils flared, and Kdin moved to rub one of his horns. “And _you’re_ pretty damn lucky too.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Ryan.

“Why the fuck not? I remember, Ryan! I fucking remember _everything._ I remember _Lindsay._ ”

“You do?” asked Ray. “Really?”

“Fuck yeah I do. And hey, I remember you, too.” The werewolf smiled. “Don’t let it go to your head, asshole.”

Neither Kdin nor Ryan were listening to them. The warlock’s weary gaze fell on Ryan, and he used Yama’s horns to pull himself upright. “Geoff’s going to be _so_ pissed when he finds out.”

“ _When_ he finds out? Considering how hard a time you had even trying to _break_ that curth- _curse,_ I wouldn’t be surprised if he _already_ knows.” Ryan pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his jacket. “And if he _does,_ then we are in the _deepest_ of shit.”

“Come on, Rye-Bread, don’t be such a fucking downer!” Michael grinned at Ryan and laughed loudly. “We fucking _did_ it!”

“Michael, we’ve cleared _one_ obstacle, yes, but there are a _fuck-ton_ more in our way, _and_ they’re only getting bigger.”

“Then we fucking jump higher Ryan, it’s not that hard.”

The scientist frowned, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. “We are dealing with a fucking _demon,_ ” he said. “Sure, it _is_ Geoff, but he is still a demon from fucking _Hell._ That makes him a _lot_ more dangerous than you think he is.”

“Yeah, and _I’m_ an immortal undead…whatever I am. Plus I’m his greatest fucking achievement, right? He won’t want to hurt me.”

Ryan pinched his nose and let out a loud sigh. “And what about _us_ , Michael? What about the poor fucks who _don’t_ have that luxury?” Michael opened his mouth, couldn’t think of anything to say to that, and closed it again. “I didn’t think so.”

“So what the fuck do you suggest we do, Ryan? Sit here and shove our thumbs up our asses?”

“Uh, well, I, uh…I didn’t get that far,” said Ryan. “But…I think we should just go home and figure it out.”

“Ryan, your paranoia really brings me down,” said Michael, “but it’s even fucking worse when you can’t even justify it with a fucking plan or something.”

“Sitting down and figuring it out _is_ a plan,” Ryan insisted. “It’s better that we come at this reasonably, and not fucking waving our dicks over our heads like idiots.”

“I don’t know, Meatspin might be the best option,” said Ray. “At least then we go out with style.” The scientist gave him a withering glare. “What? It’s true.”

“This isn’t a time for jokes.” The three looked over at Kdin. A little bit of color had returned to his cheeks, and he no longer looked like he was about to wilt. “We’re talking about a fucking demon here.” Yama rumbled loudly; purple fire flickered in his nostrils. Kdin absentmindedly stroked the scales and nubby horns on his nose, and the flames died down. “Go home, lock yourself in the safest place you possibly can, and draw as many binding and protecting sigils as you can. Also, holy water. Get some fucking holy water.”

“See? _That’s_ a plan, Ryan. Let’s do _that,_ if you’re so fucking paranoid.”

Ryan nodded. “Thank you for all the help, Kdin. D’you think you’re gonna be okay?”

The warlock shrugged. “Probably. Right now, I feel like shit, but I’m alive, so that’s a plus. If it’s necessary, I have plenty of protection charms and spells.”

“Can, uh, we…have…some?” asked Ryan.

“Please?” added Ray.

Kdin sighed, but waved his hand, and a box appeared at his side. It opened, and he rummaged around inside of it for a moment before tossing something to Ryan. It was a piece of paper covered in squiggles, but, if anime like _InuYasha_ and _Bleach_ had taught him anything, this was a prayer slip. “This is an ofuda of protection,” said Kdin. “It should keep you safe from any demon that means you harm.”

“Well, it’ll do until we get back to my lab, at least,” said Ryan, and he tucked it into his jacket. “Anything else?”

“That’s all I can do for you, I swear to God.” Kdin leaned back against his dragon and closed his eyes. “I feel like I ran a thousand miles, holy fuck…”

“C’mon, let’s go,” said Ryan. “We don’t have time to sit around here jerking off.”

Michael and Ray looked at each other, and silently agreed to listen to Ryan. He led the way through the bookshelves and found the front door amidst the maze of books. The sun was low in the sky when they exited the apartment, and both Ryan and Ray moved to block the deadly rays from touching Michael’s skin. He smirked slightly and reached for his umbrella, but felt a stab of panic when he realized it was no longer there. “Uh, guys, I don’t have my umbrella. The fuck am I gonna do? I don’t want to go up in flames! Not when I fucking remember everything! I can’t lose it all again, I just _can’t!_ ”

“Okay, okay, take a deep breath. Don’t panic,” said Ryan. He spoke slowly and calmly, as if Michael were a child who’d tripped and scraped his knee. “There’s a corner store not too far from here. I’ll go and get a new one, okay?”

“Or, you know, you can go back inside and get the one you dropped in Kdin’s apartment,” said Ray. “Then you can stop crying like a little bitch.”

“Okay, Ray, you go back inside and look for the umbrella. I hope you marked down _exactly_ where I fucking dropped it. We’ll wait out here for you while you go fucking Sherlock on that shit. Maybe that nose of yours will come in handy.”

“Wow, rude. Okay, fine, Ryan can go buy a new one. Jeez.” Ray moved to further block the sun while Ryan descended into the parking lot and sprinted toward the street. As soon as he was out of earshot, Ray turned to Michael and asked, “Did you hear how he got all dad on you?”

“Yeah,” said Michael. “He totally went into Dad Mode for a moment there.”

“Does he have kids?”

Michael opened his mouth to say ‘no’ and realized he wasn’t sure if that was true. “I…don’t actually know.”

“I guess that would imply that he’s banged a woman at some point in his life.” Ray shrugged. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question.”

Now that Michael thought about it, maybe it _wasn’t_ such a stupid question. Though Ray didn’t know it, Ryan _had_ had some vestige of a life before he lived in a rundown house in the middle of nowhere. Then he’d made a deal with Geoff, and it was all sponged away. What was it he’d said about that deal? _“My friends never met me, my old girlfriends never fell for me, there’s no record of me ever being in school or having a job, or even being **born** …my parents…my parents think they never **were** parents.” _ Had he left something, or rather _someone,_ out of his list? Was there a family missing a father and not knowing it? Looking back even more, he realized that Ryan flinched every time he mentioned how he looked like a dad, or talked about children. _‘Holy fucking shit…did he actually have a fucking **family?** Jesus fucking Christ, Ryan, what the fuck did you **do?** What could you have **possibly** done that would make losing your goddamn **kids** worth saving your own hide? Seriously, what the hell, man?’_

Only ten minutes later, Ryan returned with a large black and polka-dot patterned umbrella. His hair was awry, and his cheeks were flushed with exertion. “Here you go,” he said, and presented the umbrella. “Just got the first one I saw.”

Michael took it and put it over his head. “Thanks, Dad,” he said. The teasing nickname was a purposeful test, and sure enough, Ryan flinched like he’d been hit. How had he not caught this shit before? That was a giant fucking red flag! After a moment’s consideration, he decided he’d ask Ryan about it later. There were bigger things to focus on at the moment, like the fact that Michael had gotten his memories back, and there was a drunken, lazy demon who would not be happy with that.

Michael walked back to the SUV in silence. The two R’s were talking about what they would do when they got home, and how much they hoped Geoff wouldn’t be seven shades of pissed off when he found out that Michael’s memories were back. Michael barely registered the words they spoke, and focused instead on the image of his wife, Lindsay. It was still a rush to have full access to his memory of her, and he relished the way it made his stomach flip and his chest tingle. He thought about her bright green eyes and long red hair and about the curve of her mouth when she smiled. He missed her so much, and felt like he had missed her for months, even though it was a newly realized and remembered feeling. Even though there was no proof, even though that memory had been withheld from him, Michael knew that she had something to do with his resurrection. Nobody else on the face of this fucking shithole planet gave that much of a shit about him. Not his mother, who paid very little attention to her youngest boy during his youth, not his brothers, who he hadn’t seen much of after leaving New Jersey, not even Ray, who had claimed immense guilt after Michael had turned up dead in an alleyway. Only Lindsay would want him back enough to sell her soul to a demon. _‘But why can’t I see her again? What the fuck happened? Unless…’_ He thought about Ryan again, and felt a weight sink his dead heart. _‘Does…does she not remember me, either? Fuck that. Fuck that to hell and back again.’_

Then he was jolted out of his thoughts when he bumped into Ray and Ryan. “The fuck, guys?” he complained. “What’s going on?”

“The car’s gone,” said Ray.

“What?!” Michael stood on his tiptoes so he could see over Ryan’s shoulder. Sure enough, the maroon SUV had vanished from the parking lot without a trace. “Jesus fucking Christ, Ryan, _why_ the fucking hell didn’t you listen to Kdin?! It’s fucking _free_ to park in the apartment lot, you stupid fuck! Now you’ve gone and gotten Geoff’s fucking SUV from Hell towed!”

“I…don’t think it was towed,” said Ryan.

“Why the fuck not?!”

“I’ve been parking here for _ages,_ and-”

“Uh, yeah, just because you weren’t caught before doesn’t mean you weren’t caught _this_ time,” said Ray.

“I mean…I _guess_ you’re right…”

“See, Ryan? You’re just…being…” Michael trailed off, and his eyes widened. _‘Wait a fucking minute…I **texted** Geoff before the mind fuck spell shit! Oh, fuck, maybe Ryan’s not so fucking paranoid after all…oh, shit, shit, shitty buttholes. Fuck me in my fucking fat ass.’_

“Michael? Michael? Hey, Earth to Michael?” A hand waved in front of his face, and he focused on the concerned faces of Ryan and Ray. “Is there something wrong?”

“I, uh, I think I royally fucked all three of us in our anuses.”

“What?!” Ryan glared at Michael and stepped toward him. “What do you mean? Michael, what did you do?”

“Geoff, uh, texted me while we were at Kdin’s. He…asked me where we were, and I wouldn’t tell him, and I think that pissed him off.” To support his story, Michael pulled out his phone and showed Ryan the text feed. “I didn’t see the last coupla texts. Am I boned?”

Ray leaned in and looked at Michael’s phone. “Oh, you are _so_ fucked, Michael. He sounds _really_ fucking pissed.”

Ryan said nothing. He grabbed Michael’s wrist and turned it so the phone faced him instead. His phone showed that there were five missed calls, two voicemails and seven new messages from Geoff. Dread formed in his chest and sank into his gut.

 **Demon Asshole: Michael what the fuck is going on?** (Sent 1:13 p.m.)  
**What the fuck is Ryan doing I know he has something to do with this** (Sent 1:17 p.m.)  
**I know he’s been doing something to you** (Sent 1:23 p.m.)  
**Michael what the hell is going on? Why aren’t you answering me?** (Sent 1:54 p.m.)  
**I swear I’ll kill all 3 of you fuckheads** (Sent 2:13 p.m.)  
**Why aren’t you answering your phone? What’s going on?** (Sent 2:49 p.m.)  
**If you’ve done what I’ve think you’ve done, your ass is MINE** (Sent 3:05 p.m.)

In a daze, Michael dialed his voicemail and put the phone on speaker. “You have –two- new messages,” said the robotic voice. “Message One-”

_“Michael, what the fuck do you mean, you’re out with Ryan and Ray? How many fucking times have I told you I don’t want you going out without me?! Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell are you doing?! I know Ryan’s up to no good, fuck, he’s never not up to no good, and I don’t know Ray well enough to trust him, and him being a werewolf doesn’t help.”_

“Thanks, asshole,” Ray muttered.

“Shut up!” said Michael.

_“The fuck’s going on?! Next time you call, you’d better pick up, dickhead.”_

“End of message. To send a reply message, press 1. To delete, press 7. To proceed, press pound.” Michael hit pound and waited anxiously. Ryan and Ray hovered around him, and for a brief moment, he wondered what this must look like to the people driving by; three grown men huddled together under a black and polka-dot umbrella in the late afternoon must be a strange sight, even in Austin, Texas. “Message Two-”

_“Michael, why the hell aren’t you answering me?! I know you’re pissed, fuck, I mean, it’s what you were known for when you were alive, but seriously, people make stupid fucking decisions when they’re angry, and I swear on every fucking devil in Hell that you will regret what you’re doing right now. Your memory’s gone for a reason, Michael, even if you don’t like it. There are rules that are old as dicks, older than fucking Jesus Christ Himself, and horrible, horrible shit will happen if those rules are broken. I’ve seen it before, hell, I’ve **done** it before! This isn’t like canceling a newspaper subscription or a phone contract. We’re talking about **Hell,** Michael, and demons don’t forgive broken contracts. These are contracts drawn up in blood and signed with souls. They’re worth a lot more than anything Earth has to offer, and demons will take an eye for an eye if it’s broken. Plus it means a lot of paperwork for us, and nobody wants that. Just…think about that before you do anything, all right? I’ll come find you, and we’ll go out, have a couple drinks, and we can forget about this. Okay? Bye.”_

All three of them were silent throughout the message, and they remained silent while the robot lady rattled off the options for the messages. Cars continued to rush on by, drafts of wind ruffling their clothes and pushing them about. They still remained motionless and silent, staring at their phone in complete horror.

“This is even worse than I thought,” Ryan finally said. “Of _course_ he’d figure out what we were doing. Shit. _Shit._ ”

“What the fuck are we going to do?” asked Ray. “What _can_ we do? Jesus Christ.”

“He _has_ to know we’re here,” said Michael. “I mean, the fucking car’s gone.”

“I think…I think we should just…do what we were going to do in the first place. Let’s just go home and, y’know, hold the fort.” Ryan turned to Ray. “Do you want me to take you back to your apartment?”

“Huh?” The werewolf blinked dumbly at Ryan. “You…what?”

“You don’t have anything to do with this,” said Ryan. “You’re the one innocent in this shitstorm. I, uh, would rather…you not…suffer…because of us.”

“Aw, sounds like Rye-Bread has a crush,” said Michael.

“Wow, Ryan, I never knew you felt that way.” Ray fluttered his eyelashes and put a hand over his heart. “Warn a guy first before you turn up the charm, huh?”

Ryan laughed once. “Seriously, though, if you want to stay out of this, I’ll take you home, and you won’t have to worry about it.”

“That is weirdly considerate of you, Ryan, but, uh, I’m gonna see this through.” He looked over at Michael and nervously nibbled at his bottom lip. “I…wasn’t there once, and it’s…” He trailed off and looked down at the pavement. “Fuck, you know what I mean.”

Michael nodded and touched the werewolf’s shoulder. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” They stood like that for a moment before Michael dropped his hand. “So…we have no car.”

“I can fix that,” said Ryan.

“Seriously? You’re going to jack _another_ car?”

“Do we have another choice?”

“Uh…this might be, y’know, _completely_ crazy, but you could, uh, call a fucking taxi,” said Ray.

“Oh. That’s, uh, hmm. Huh.”

“You know, once, _just_ once, I’d like you to try _not_ going the criminal route, Ryan.”

The scientist crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip petulantly. “That’s no fun, though.”

Michael snorted and dialed the operator. “Ryan the fucking grouchy guy.”

Ray shook his head. “I can’t believe I thought you could be a dad.”

Michael made a shushing motion with his hand, but it was too late. Ryan’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and his cheeks reddened. Hurt flashed across his face for a moment before he looked away. His lips moved, but no words came out. He did not uncross his arms, but his fingers wrapped around his biceps and gripped until the knuckles turned white. _‘Jesus Christ…Ryan, what the fuck could you have **possibly** done?’ _Michael wondered, and not for the last time.

He thought about saying something to Ryan, decided against it and chastised Ray instead. “Wow, Ray, how fucking rude can you get, huh?”

“What? It’s an observation!”

“That’s something you fucking say behind someone’s _back,_ Ray, not to their fucking face!” At that moment, he heard a voice on the phone and turned away from the incredulous werewolf and the stony scientist. “Uh, yeah, hi, my friends and I need a taxi. Yeah, I’ll hold.”

“We don’t have time to wait,” said Ray.

“What the fuck am I supposed to say?! ‘Hey, if it’s no big deal, can you _not_ put me on hold? There could be an angry demon after us, so we _really_ need that taxi so we can run away from him.’ We’d get the fucking cops called on us, man.”

“I…agree with Michael,” said Ryan. He straightened and let his arms fall to his sides. “We…we need to keep our heads down for the time being.”

“ _Thank_ you, Ryan.”

The phone clicked, and a new voice chattered in his ear. “This is the Austin Cab Company. How can I help you?”

“Yeah, my friends and I, uh, we, uh, our car was, uh, towed,” Michael said, “and we need a taxi.”

“All right, sir. Can you give me your current location?

“Our location?” He looked over at Ryan. “I don’t know, where are we?”

“Burnet Road,” the scientist mumbled, “in fronna the empty store near the ice cream place.”

“You _do_ realize that’s not a fucking address, right? I don’t think they accept ‘in front of’ or ‘near’ as directions. Give me some _numbers_.” When Ryan was not forthcoming with the aforementioned numbers, Michael sighed deeply. “We’re on Burnet, but I…don’t have the exact address.”

“Okay. Can you describe your location? Do you know what’s around you?”

“Uh…we’re standing in front of an empty store, and, uh, I think there’s an ice cream place nearby.”

“Okay.” Someone tapped at a keyboard for several seconds. “If you look to your right, can you see a sign that says ‘Atomic Tattoo and Piercing’? It’s not easy to miss.”

He looked, and, to his immense relief, saw the ostentatious teal sign, as well its pirate-skull-squid decoration…thing. “Yeah, it’s right next door to us.”

“Okay, then your current address is 5578 Burnet Road in Austin, Texas. We can have a cab there in about twenty minutes.”

“Great, that’s…wait, _twenty_ minutes?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s the fastest we can get there within legal speed limits. If time is of the essence, we can redirect you to another service.”

“Let me ask my friends about it.” He looked over at Ryan and Ray. “Can we wait another twenty minutes, guys? Doesn’t sound like we have much of a choice or anything.”

“Do we _really_ have no other choice?” asked Ray. Michael shrugged. “Well, Ryan’s the guy with the money. Are you okay with waiting?”

“S’fine,” said Ryan.

“Jesus, Ryan, it was a fucking joke. Let it go.”

“Okay, we’ll take it,” Michael said.

“All right. Our cab should be there in twenty minutes. Can I get your name, sir?”

“Uh…hold on.” He looked at the other two. “Ray, can I use your name?”

“Why?”

“Of the three of us, you, uh, don’t, um…” Michael realized that Ray had no reason to believe that they couldn’t use Ryan’s name, save for the fact that he was a mad scientist. He looked over at Ryan, and was met with a piercing glare. “Well, I’m fucking dead, and Ryan’s fucking insane and probably wanted for a billion fucking war crimes or whatever, so _you’re_ the only one with a clean record.”

“Okay, that makes sense.” The werewolf nodded. “Yeah, fine, do it.”

“It’s not a war crime if it’s not performed during a war or against people of a warring nation,” said Ryan. “Also, I don’t think I’ve violated the terms of the Geneva Conventions.”

“You are such a fucking nerd,” said Michael.

Ryan’s lips twitched. “Eh, well, it, uh, comes with the territory.”

“Okay.” Privately hoping that the lady hadn’t heard anything they’d said over the past few minutes or so, Michael put the phone back to his ear and said, “My friend’s paying. His name’s Ray Narvaez.”

“Junior,” said Ray.

“Sorry. Ray Narvaez, Junior.”

“Do you think you can spell that for me, sir?”

Michael sighed. “N-A-R-V-A-E-Z.”

“Okay. That should be it. Anything else?”

“Nah, that’s it.”

“All right. Have a nice day, sir.” The phone clicked, and he tucked the cell back into his pocket.

“So…now we wait?” asked Ray.

“Now we wait,” said Michael.

Ryan nodded and sat down on the curb, knees pulled up to his chest and chin resting on his knees. Michael sat on his right side, and Ray sat on his left. They had no idea what might be coming for them, so they watched the busy road closely. Any car could be their salvation…or it could be their downfall.

No matter what happened, even if he faced every single demon from the fiery pits of Hell, even if fucking Satan himself wanted a piece of his ass, Michael thought…no, he _knew_ it was worth it. _She_ was worth it. The others wouldn’t agree with him, of that he was sure, but Michael would suffer every punishment thrown at him if it meant he remembered Lindsay. Fuck, he’d give as good as he got! _‘I’ll punch Satan in the fucking dickhole if it means I keep my memories, goddammit! I’m not losing her again!’_

_‘I won’t let **anything** take her from me.’_


	26. Open War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything hits the fan.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick...

Michael watched the numbers on the taxi’s fare counter slowly increase while they traversed the aging North Austin streets. It would be quite a hefty expense, but he was sure Ryan’s plethora of credit cards and bomb money would be enough to cover it. Fuck, Ryan had blown two hundred bucks on Kdin without blinking an eye. Surely he would cover one taxi ride.

The undead glanced over at Ryan. The scientist sat on his right side and stared out the window, though his gaze was unfocused. His fingers drummed nervously on his knee, and his gaze occasionally flicked to their middle-aged driver. Michael knew Ryan didn’t want their driver knowing where his aged hidey-hole was, and was trying to deal with the knowledge that he did, in fact, know where it was. He knew this because he, Michael and Ray had spent ten minutes arguing about where the cab would drop them off. Ryan wanted to be dropped off nearly five miles away from his home, but Michael and Ray strongly objected it. The issue was settled when Ray told the driver the approximate location of the house, and Ryan had no choice but to give out the actual address.

Fifteen minutes passed before someone finally spoke up. “So, uh, how does it feel to have your memory back?” asked Ray.

Michael opened his mouth, but Ryan cut him off. “Shh! We can’t talk about this right now!”

“Why the fuck not?” asked Michael.

“ _Shh!_ ” Ryan gestured to their driver. “Not in front of the, uh, perfectly normal…guy.” The “perfectly normal guy” gave them a dirty look, so Ryan smiled and waved disarmingly. “We’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“Ryan, jeez, relax,” said Ray. “Acting all nervous and shit isn’t gonna help us.”

“Relax?! How can I relax? We’re going home to an angry…old…fuck.”

Ryan’s attempts to censor himself made both Michael and Ray laugh. “He _is_ an angry old fuck, I’ll give you that,” said Michael, “but seriously, I think you need to chill the fuck out. He’s been angry at us before, how is this any different?”

The scientist’s eyes narrowed into slits, and Michael drew back, ignoring the indignant noise from Ray, who was now squished against the taxi door. “Do you _really_ need to ask that, Michael? _You’re_ the one who went against his rules. _You’re_ the one who’ll have to pay.”

Michael squared his shoulders and cracked his neck. “Do _you_ think _I_ give a shit, Ryan? Cause I don’t. I’m not gonna sit around crying like a little pussy when I can stand up for myself and protect what’s mine. I’m gonna fight with everything I am, or fucking die trying.”

“He’s not going to _kill_ you, Michael!” The driver glanced back at them again, and everyone did their best to look innocent. “If anything, he’ll just wipe your fucking memories again…or _worse._ I know you think you’re immune because you think you’re his greatest fucking achievement or whatever, but _I’m_ not so sure.”

Michael snorted and looked over at Ray for support. The squished werewolf met his gaze for a moment, but turned to look out the window. “Uh…I think…maybe…you should listen to Ryan.”

He huffed angrily and glared at the floorboard of the taxi. “Fine. Assholes.”

“Hey, what’d _I_ do?” asked Ray. “Fuck, _I_ could have gone home, but _I_ decided to help you!”

A tiny piece of Michael’s irritation evaporated at this. “Sorry, Ray. You’re cool.”

“Fuck yeah. I’m the coolest guy here.”

“And humble, too,” said Ryan.

They laughed a little bit, but it died out quickly, and they spent a good deal of the rest of the drive in silence. Michael went back to watching the counter tick higher and higher. He was fairly certain it had been running during the twenty minute drive to pick them up, which was kind of a dick move on the driver’s part. They had enough problems on their plate as it was.

Eventually the rundown streets of North Austin yielded to the familiar yellowing countryside, and as the buildings faded into the distance, the tension in the car increased. Ryan was now tapping his foot in addition to drumming his fingers, and Ray fidgeted in his seat and fussed with his seatbelt. Michael just kept watching the counter tick higher and higher, not really registering the numbers anymore. Weirdly enough, he just wanted to face Geoff and get it over with rather than run and hide, which he knew both Ryan and Ray wanted to do. He might not be the most perceptive guy on the face of the planet, but he knew he couldn’t run forever. Geoff was a fucking demon, and though Michael could exist without needing to eat or drink, neither Ryan nor Ray could do the same, and he doubted Ryan could keep coming up with fake names to get credit cards, or create explosives out of nothing. Maybe it was some vestige of courage, maybe it was his newfound memories, or maybe he was just fucking dumb, but Michael would rather die fighting to protect his memories than run one square foot away from the problem. _‘I’m probably dumb and this is gonna end horribly, but fuck it. At least I’m trying to do something.’_

Strangely enough, the drive ended both too quickly and not quickly enough. The driver stopped at a rotting signpost a half mile away from the house proper, dropped them off, and sped back into the early evening. They stood in a little cluster and watched him go, like three convicts about to walk to the gallows watching their last chance for escape ride cheerfully into the sunset.

It was Michael who led the way back to Ryan's dingy house on the hill. He had more reason to fear Geoff's retribution than most, but he still was not as afraid as he should have been. He wasn't about to spend any more time analyzing his feelings, not when there was an angry demon on the horizon.

It was a long walk back to Ryan's place. Grass had long since devoured most of the pathway, and what little remained had tiny weeds poking through the gravel. Michael felt like he was in _Indiana Jones_ or some shit; well, he had the same last name, and he was traversing a jungle of sorts, though he wasn't going to be surprised by the sudden appearance of the supernatural, mostly because he was expecting it. Also Indy was not some demonically risen undead asshole, and didn't have friends who were a werewolf and a mad scientist, respectively. _'So basically it's nothing like_ Indiana Jones _. Great.'_

"Ryan, why the fuck are we so far away from your fucking house?" said Ray.

"Do I really have to explain?"

"Uh, yeah, I would like that, yeah."

"Because I really don't want anyone to know where I live. I'm a fucking mad scientist, I'm not exactly on the list of people who welcome visits from the, uh, the, um, regular...people."

"He doesn't want to be arrested for being a crazy asshole," said Michael. It wasn't wrong, it just wasn't the entire story.

"Okay. That makes sense."

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Yeah, I just explained it in a way Ray could understand."

"Hey, I explained it perfectly fine."

"Sure, right up until the end. Then you just sounded paranoid, Ryan. Seriously, hiding from the regular people?"

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"I didn't have to. You already did it, Ryan."

The scientist scoffed and pushed ahead of them.

"But seriously, why are we so far away?" asked Ray.

"Just keep walking, Ray."

They marched on for a good twenty or thirty minutes, and by the time the tall barbed-wire-topped fence came into view, Ray was grumbling about the stinging grass blades and poorly paved path, while Ryan irritably swatted at the clingy fronds and let out a 'hmph' every once in a while. A loud alarm sounded when they approached the ‘DANGER’ sign, and the gate slowly trundled to the side. “Finally,” said Ryan. He and Ray took several steps, and then froze in place.

Geoff stood in the front yard of Ryan’s house. His arms were crossed, and his horns were completely engulfed in blue-white flames. The glare on his face could curdle milk in an instant, but Michael was not afraid. Well, he was a _little_ bit afraid, but he wouldn’t let fear stop him, not when he had all of his memories.

One by one, Michael, Ryan and Ray trudged through the gate of Ryan’s house and into the waist high grass. Both the scientist and the werewolf breathed heavily and trembled violently, and the closer they got to Geoff, the closer they stood together. Michael stepped in front of them and drew himself up to his fullest height. Unfortunately, he was still the shortest of the three, but hopefully Geoff’s anger would be focused on him, not on Ryan or Ray. _‘ **I’m** the one who got Kdin to give me my memories back. They don’t have anything to do with this. It’s **my** memories on the line here, and I’ll defend them with my fucking **life.** Fuck the subterfuge, fuck the rules, and fuck. Hiding.’_

Michael put his hands in his pockets and smiled cheekily at the demon. “Hey, Geoff. How about those drinks?”

Geoff hissed angrily. Two plumes of black smoke drifted out of each nostril, and steam whistled in between his teeth. “Michael, how about we stop playing coy, huh? I _know_ what you did, asshole.”

“Yeah, Geoff? You know what I did?” Michael smirked and bobbed his eyebrows. “Oh no, what’d I _do,_ guys?”

“Cut it out, Michael,” said Ryan.

The demon growled, uncrossed his arms, and flexed his claws. All ten of them glowed red-hot and smoked in the cool October air. A bluish-white plume of fire burned where the tuft on his tail had been, spitting and flicking with every writhing flick of Geoff’s tail. “You fucked _everything_ up, Michael! You did the thing I _specifically_ asked you not to! Do you know what could happen to you _now?!_ ”

“No,” said Michael.

Geoff stepped forward, and the grass beneath his feet smoldered, blackened, and curled up on itself. Smoke leaked out of his ears and wreathed his body in a shimmery grey veil. “I wiped your memories to _protect_ you, Michael! I _know_ it pisses you off, but-”

“You don’t know jack shit about me or my fucking feelings!” Michael dropped his casual stance and expression; he now squared his shoulders and clenched his fists. “My memories are all I have left! You take that away from me, and I’m _worse_ than dead. I don’t care if losing my memories meant having a gold cock and diamond balls – I am _not_ giving them up! You would be the _worst_ motherfucker on the face of the planet if you take the only thing I have left!”

“That’s…a bit of a stretch, Michael,” said a new voice. Michael blinked and saw Jack standing on the aged porch. He gazed sadly at the scene before him, and his fins flexed gently in the evening air. “He’s, uh, not the most…eloquent…demon, but he _does_ have your best interests at heart.”

“Fuck that shit! Fuck it right in its fat, lying asshole!” Michael stepped forward. There were now only five or six feet in between them; Michael could feel the heat rolling off Geoff’s body in waves, but he did not back down. Anger fueled his courage and allowed him to stand before the furious hell-being. He heard a deep sigh behind him, and the soft smack of flesh on flesh. Michael ignored it and stared directly into Geoff’s eyes. His red eyes blazed like coals, and for a brief moment, Michael wondered if they would set the demon’s face on fire. “You took her away from me once! I’ll fucking _die_ before I let you do it again!”

“Michael, calm down!” shouted Jack. “You’re playing with _literal_ fire! Back off!”

“ _You_ back off! I won’t let you assholes talk me out of this! I _need_ this!”

“I…I’ve got your back, Michael,” said Ray. The werewolf stepped out from behind Michael, and moved to his side.

“Thanks, Ray. See, _Ray_ here is a real friend.” He pointed at the werewolf, who shifted awkwardly when the demon’s hostile gaze turned to him. “Back the _fuck_ off, Geoff.”

“I. Am. Trying. To. Help. You,” Geoff snarled. “If you keep this up, you won’t _just_ be back in the fucking ground, or lose your fucking memories. _Lindsay_ will suffer, too.”

The words were like a bucket of ice water thrown directly into Michael’s face. His mouth dropped open and, for a moment, he completely forgot that he was pissed at Geoff. “What do you mean? What the fuck will happen? _What did she do?!_ ”

Geoff’s flame shrank a little bit, like he hadn’t expected Michael would react that way. “You know I can’t answer _any_ of those questions, right? Even if I do, you’ll have to forget it anyway.”

“Why’s that, huh? Why do I _have_ to forget?” Now that the initial shock was gone, and Geoff had gone back to being ridiculously anal about telling him anything, Michael’s rage was rearing its head again. “Do you _really_ think it’s better for me to _not_ know?”

“Trust me, it’ll be better for both of us in the end,” said Geoff.

“Why do I keep having to explain this to you, you cocksucker?! I _can’t_ trust you if you don’t give me a _reason_ to trust you! You’ve _barely_ done anything for me! You _dumped_ me the first chance you fucking got! Just…just fucking _dropped_ me on Ryan’s doorstep like some unwanted bastard kid or something! Then you act all fucking coy and shitty to me and claim it’s to ‘protect’ me. But you know what? I’m _done_ with being ‘protected’! I’m _done_ with not knowing why things _have_ to be this, and why they _must_ be that! And I am so. Fucking. _Tired._ Of you. Not. Telling. Me. What! Happened! TO! MY! WIFE!”

Like lighting a match in a sewer, Michael’s words reignited Geoff’s anger. Fire swirled around his horns, chest and arms, and his eyes nearly bulged from his head. His lip curled back and his tail lashed furiously behind him. Jack backed toward the door, and Ray looked a little nervous, but Michael did not back down. He had _finally_ gotten the words out; words that had been festering in his throat since…well, since the very beginning, when Geoff had first met him in the graveyard. Now that they were out in the open, he felt like an iron band had been removed from his chest, and he could breathe for the first time in an eon. He was probably going to be obliterated by an angry demon, but at least he would go out like a badass, and with his mind intact. _‘It’s still gonna blow huge cocks, but hopefully it’ll look cool as fuck.’_

“Uh….” Everyone looked over at Ray, surprised to hear him speak after Michael’s little soapbox moment. “I hate to interrupt this...whatever it is, but where the hell's Ryan?”

Everyone blinked and looked around. Sure enough, Ryan was nowhere to be found. It was like the scientist had vanished into thin air, and Michael wondered if Ryan had found a way to make himself invisible. Geoff's eyes widened, and he spun on his heel and sprinted for the house.

Before he could make it to the porch, something beneath his feet flashed, and he froze in place. “Son of a fucking BITCH!” he shrieked. His swirling flames exploded into a tornado of orange and yellow fire, and in moments, the dry grass around him ignited and transformed into a rapidly growing field of flickering death. Geoff took no notice and continued to wave his arms and scream. “The motherfucking cocksucker put down another fucking holding pentagram!”

“Geoff, calm the fuck down!” Jack shouted, and jumped down from the porch steps. Ray and Michael backed away from the furious demon and the raging flames fanning out from his body.

“Holy shit, everything is on fire,” said Ray. “ _Why_ did I ever agree to come back with you?”

“Don't just stand there bitching! Fucking put it out!” Michael moved forward and stomped at the edges of the growing flames. The heat was already intense, and the most primal parts of him recoiled. His stomach twisted, and his legs shook with the need to flee. Instead of running, he gritted his teeth and did his best to beat the fires back. Ray ran to the other side and also kicked at the flames. Jack sprinted over to Geoff, momentarily jumped away at a burst of blue-white flame, cautiously reproached him, and finally broke the seal by dragging his toes through the topmost part of the circle.

Geoff tore for the house the moment the holding seal was broken. Michael sprinted after him without taking any time to think about it. When he was close enough, he launched himself at the demon's back. Heat flared across his arms, and he felt like he was boiling in his own skin, but he hit Geoff right in the knees and brought him down to the ground.

“What the - Michael! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” The demon snarled and leaped to his feet.

“Uh…trying to protect my friend and benefactor Ryan?” Apparently that was the wrong answer, for Geoff’s scowl grew even darker, and his tail lashed furiously behind him. “I’m protecting my right to keep my memories, Geoff. What’s so fucking hard to understand about that, huh?”

“You _know_ why I can’t let you do that! Stop being such a little bitch!” A fireball blazed to life and grew within the palm of Geoff’s hand. Michael scrambled to his feet and ran for his life. He heard a crackle behind him, and he ducked just in time for the white ball of flames to whizz harmlessly over his head. It landed in the grass and proceeded to set another patch of grass aflame.

“Are you fucking _serious?_ ” he heard Jack moan. “We just put out _one_ fire, and you go and set _another_ one?! Goddammit, Geoff!”

“Here comes the fire brigade. Wee woo, motherfucker.” Ray sprinted over to the new fire and proceeded to stamp at its edges. Jack ran to the opposite side and attempted to keep the fire from reaching the high fence.

Michael ran to join them, but after only taking a few steps, his body froze in place. It was like someone had flipped a switch and turned his body off; no matter what he did, it wouldn’t respond. He was a flesh statue standing in the middle of the yard, eyes locked on the fire, stuck in a ‘purposeful run’ pose.

“Michael, I’m sorry to have to do this to you, buddy, but you give me no choice.” Geoff’s voice sounded from somewhere behind him, and Michael struggled to turn around and face him. “But really, you _are_ better off without those memories. One day, you’ll…aw, who’m I kidding, this isn’t something you can understand. But hey, at least you won’t remember it.”

_‘No… **No!** You can’t **do** this to me, you motherfucker! I can’t forget again, I just **can’t!** I have literally nothing else in my miserable fucking existence. You can’t take it away…you can’t…’ _Michael struggled even harder, but his muscles remained locked in position, and he knew Geoff was readying the spell that would wipe his memories away. Panic gripped his motionless intestines, and he strained with all his might against the spell holding him in place. It still didn’t work. Despair tainted the panic, and he wanted to scream so badly his throat burned.

Then, unexpectedly, there was a loud _thump_ from behind him, and his muscles relaxed. At the same time, he watched Geoff tumble over the ground and land amidst the remaining patch of yellow grass with an undignified squawk. Michael blinked dumbly. _‘Uh…what?’_

“Fuck off, Geoff,” called a voice from behind. They all spun around to see Ryan descending the porch steps. He was wearing his lab coat and mad scientist goggles again, and also sported a two-cylinder gas mask with a skeletal grin painted on it. A belt of what Michael assumed were some sort of grenades were slung around the scientist’s middle, and he held a modified fireman’s hose attached to a set of canisters on his back. “You’ve done enough already.”

Geoff jumped to his feet and glared at Ryan. “Ryan, you are driving me up the goddamn _wall!_ Seriously, I should _never_ have brought Michael here.” He flexed his claws and scowled darkly. “Ryan, if you don’t back off _right now_ …I think we _both_ know what will happen.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I _don’t_ want to listen to you anymore. Maybe I want to stop _hiding_ …and start _acting_.”

Geoff laughed; actually threw his head back and laughed like a fucking madman. “Yeah? Well, maybe you should have thought of that when you tried to play _God_ three years ago! You remember _that_?”

Ryan’s hands tightened around the hose’s nozzle. “Yeah. I remember.”

“You shit all over the rules _and_ stomped on God’s toes, and then you came crying to me when it bit you in the fucking ass. Like you didn’t know it would happen eventually.”

“I…was…I didn’t…I thought the benefits would outweigh the risks. I was wrong.”

“Bull _shit_ that’s what you thought! More like you wanted to do something that had _never_ been done before, and you didn’t _care_ what the risks were. I scanned your _entire_ life, asshole. I _know_ what your motivations were, and you were _not_ motivated by _any_ fucking benefits.” The demon waved his hand nonchalantly and stepped closer. “Do you remember what you did _after_ it blew up? You _begged_ me to make it all go away. You were on your fucking _knees_.”

“There’s a blowjob joke in there somewhere,” said Ray. Everyone looked at him. “Wow. Tough crowd.”

“Ray, there’s a time and a place for that,” Geoff said in a surprisingly calm tone of voice. “Can you wait until _after_ I tell Ryan why he’s stupid and wrong?”

“Sure. Sorry about that.”

Geoff shook his head and turned back to Ryan. “Anyway, as I was saying…” He cracked his neck and resumed glaring at Ryan. “Do you remember what you _said? Do_ you?” There was a blur of movement, and then the demon was only two feet away from Ryan. “‘Can you help me?’” Michael started; Geoff imitated Ryan’s voice so perfectly that if he hadn’t seen Geoff’s mouth moving, he would have sworn it was Ryan speaking. “‘You _have_ to help me! I fucked everything up! If you don’t help me, everything will go to shit, and it’ll be _my_ fault!’”

The scientist leveled the nozzle at Geoff. “You know why I did it. If I hadn’t sold my soul to you, everyone would have _suffered_. Though I guess you would’ve preferred that.”

The demon snarled. “I’ll say it again. Bull. Fucking. _Shit_. There was only _one_ person you were thinking about when we made our deal – _you_.” He stepped forward. “You only came to me so you could pull your own fucking ass out of the fire and run away from _everything_ so you wouldn’t be punished. You were like a goddamn _kid,_ running away from home ‘cause he was gonna get grounded and shit. You played with…with…with fucking _life,_ but you didn’t want to suffer the consequences when it went wrong, so you ran and hid like a fucking pussy. Don’t deny it.”

Ryan was silent for a long, long moment. Then he squared his shoulders and tightened his grip on the nozzle. “Maybe you’re right…but I’m gonna play my own game now.” There was a click, a hiss, and then a jet of clear liquid burst from the hose. It hit Geoff square in the face and engulfed him in a cloud of white smoke. Michael heard one strangled yelp, and then there was silence.

When the smoke cleared, Geoff was frozen in four inches of crystalline ice. Ryan sighed deeply and straightened.

“Ryan, what the fuck is _wrong_ with you?!” Jack’s eyes were wide, and his fins trembled like little jellies. “Have you lost your goddamn mind?!”

“Did he ever _have_ it?” asked Ray.

Ryan descended the stairs and walked over to Michael. “You think you can do me a favor, Michael?” He was calm, like he hadn’t just frozen a demon from Hell. Michael goggled at him wordlessly. “I need you to-”

A flurry of crackles sounded from nearby, and the ice surrounding Geoff exploded into tiny fragments and mist. The demon whirled around until he caught sight of Ryan. His eyes narrowed, and fire flamed around his fists. “You fucking _cocksucker!_ ” He lobbed several fireballs at Ryan, who calmly stepped out of the way, unlike Michael, who threw himself to the ground with a shout. “You – fucking – what the – how could you?!” he spluttered.

“I still have some aces up my sleeve,” said Ryan.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Ryan reached into his tool belt and pulled out the little gray box Kdin had given him. “Ray, I’m sorry in advance for this.”

Ray blinked. “Sorry for wh-” Ryan flipped the box open and tossed it like a grenade. A large, sparkling silver necklace fell out of the box and landed at Ray’s feet. He yelled, flung his arms over his eyes and jumped away. His shaking legs gave out after several seconds, and he fell to the ground and curled into a little ball.

“Ryan, what the _fuck,_ man?” Michael ran over to his fallen friend and offered him a hand. Ray’s head jerked up; his eyes were feral yellow, his ears were pointed and furry, and hair was sprouting all over his face. He snarled and swatted Michael’s hand away. Four tiny wounds opened up on Michael’s hand, courtesy of the claws sprouting from Ray’s fingertips. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit, shit, _shit._ ” He backed away slowly and stepped on something hard. He jumped, lifted his foot and saw the necklace Ryan had thrown at Ray. Forty-odd bluish-clear stones glimmered innocently up at him; he stooped, grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket for the time being.

“Was that – was – where the fuck did you get _that_ much moonstone from, asshole?!” Geoff screamed.

“Where do you think?”

“I don’t – oh my _fucking_ God, if I _ever_ get my hands on that cocksucking warlock, I’ll fucking skin him!”

“We should _probably_ focus on running away for now,” said Ryan.

“Michael, get away from him!” shouted Jack.

“No shit!” Michael backed away as quickly as he could. The necklace weighed heavily in his pocket, but unfortunately, it had no positive effect on the werewolf. Ray’s clothes split in several places, exposing large patches of rapidly growing brown fur. His clawed hands dug into the earth and he moaned loudly. His features were slowly growing more lupine by the second; fangs jutted out from his lips and his nose and mouth were slowly pushing out from his face. He growled and tried to back away, but his contorting body prevented him from getting very far. His shoes bulged, ripped and fell away, revealing two rapidly furring and curling hind paws.

“Michael, get that fucking necklace away from him!” yelled Geoff.

“It won’t help!” said Jack. “He has to get that little box!”

“Ryan, where the _fuck_ did you throw that thing?”

“No idea.”

“You…fucking…son of a _bitch._ ”

Michael saw Ryan open his mouth to retort, but a loud cracking and creaking drowned out his words. He looked back over at Ray and saw a growing mass of fur and claws. The final changes occurred in a matter of seconds. The wolf’s bulk expanded and shredded his clothes completely, a tail sprouted from the end of his spine, and his fur grew to its full length and thickness. The giant wolf splayed out on the ground and panted heavily for several seconds. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and watched the werewolf warily. His ears flicked up, and he slowly rose to his paws, sat on his haunches and howled at the evening sky.

“Uh…Ray? You, uh, you still there?” asked Michael. The werewolf looked at him, and Michael’s entire body went cold. The wolf’s eyes were still yellow on black. His lip curled up to reveal long, glistening fangs. “ _Fuck._ ”

He turned tail and ran just as the werewolf roared and swiped at him. The heavy pound of paws sounded from behind him, and if he were still able, Michael was sure this would be the part where he shit his pants. Hot air blasted over his back, and his brain unhelpfully conjured a vision of long jaws tearing into his backside. He let out a scream worthy of the _Friday the 13 th _movies and dove for the ground. His head thudded painfully against the earth, and he got a mouthful of burned grass, but it somehow managed to confuse the werewolf, who charged right over him without stopping. Michael felt kind of good about himself…at least until he realized that he hadn’t _actually_ fallen for Michael’s swan dive, but had caught sight of Geoff, Jack and Ryan, and went after them instead.

The gents scattered before the werewolf’s snapping jaws, and he careened into the chain link fence. An entire section of fence bent, groaned loudly, and finally snapped like thread, leaving a werewolf-sized hole and a great deal of bent chain link. After a few moments spent disentangling himself from the broken fence, the werewolf shook himself and charged back into the lawn.

“Ryan, I seriously fucking hate you right now!” Geoff yelled. “If I can fucking get to you-” His threat was cut off when the werewolf cut off his retreat, opened his mouth, and bit down hard on his left arm. “Ah! AH! FUCK! GET IT OFF!” Instead of letting go, the werewolf began shaking the demon like he was a dog toy. Jack hovered nearby, obviously trying to figure out how he could help.

In the meantime, Ryan slunk away from the action and approached Michael. “Uh, so-”

“Ryan, I hope you realize you fucked _everything_ up,” said Michael. “Asshole.”

“What – I’m trying to _fix_ this! Anyway, there’s no time to argue. I need you to go down to my lab and grab some…” He trailed off. “Just grab the metal cans labelled ‘N2’, okay?”

“Why should I-”

“They’re full of liquid nitrogen! That’s how I froze Geoff!”

“Yeah, Ryan? And how did _that_ go?”

“Listen, I’m going up against a fairly powerful demon. I need every advantage I can get.”

“And?”

“And…?”

Michael pointed over to the still furiously whirling werewolf and the demon hanging from his mouth. “What about Ray?”

“Well…I’ll see I can try to find the, uh, the box.”

“Wow, Ryan, this is a fucking _great_ plan.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than no fucking plan at all. Now _go!”_

Michael groaned, but he obeyed Ryan’s command and darted into the house. Loud thuds, roars and screams continued to sound from outside, and only got louder the further Michael got into the house. He hurried into the kitchen, and was immediately met with a rather large obstacle when he saw that the lab door was shut tight. “Oh, _come on!_ Ryan, you motherfucker!” He punched in the maintenance override code. This time the door let out an angry squawk and the LCD screen read ‘Invalid Code. Try Again.’ He scowled and clenched his fists. “Okay, fuck. _This._ Ryan, the _next_ goddamn time you ask for help…” Michael stepped back and brought up his fist. “Don’t-” He punched the door. A fist-shaped dent appeared in the steel. “Make-” He punched it again. The dent deepened. “It-” He punched it again. The gap between the door and its jamb widened, and the screen flashed in warning. “So fucking _annoying!_ ” He punched it again. There was a scream of metal on metal, and the door flew open and hit the back wall hard enough to send a shower of dust down from ceiling. With a slight feeling of triumph, Michael headed downstairs.

After a fairly thorough search of the tables, Michael did not see anything resembling a metal canister, which meant he would probably have to delve into the storage closet again. _‘God. Fucking kill me now.’_ He stormed over to the door and shoved it aside. _‘Now, if I was a fucking can of fucking nitrogen, where the fuck would I be? Uh…liquid nitrogen…that’s the shit that freezes stuff instantly, right? Then…maybe it’s in the freezer?’_

Most of the freezer was filled with the same giant meat cubes he’d fed Edgar earlier that day, but a section near the far right wall had several nested shelves of chemicals. Michael looked over every single label on every single flask and phial, but not a single one had the label N2 on it. Even if there _had_ been, the containers were so small it would probably fuel Ryan’s gun thing for a fraction of a second. _‘Jesus, Ryan, could you have **been** more vague?’ _ Michael groaned and straightened. It looked like he was going to have to venture deeper into the storage room. _‘Fuck me.’_

Five massively overloaded coves of shit later, Michael found a different freezer. This one was set in the wall and had clear doors and wire shelves, like a fridge in the grocery store. More beakers lined the shelves, along with oddly-shaped paper wrapped packages and opaque Tupperware containers. If Michael remembered Geoff and Ryan’s argument correctly, those were probably body parts. _‘Fuck that shit.’_ He walked past rows of paper packages, beakers and boxes, and only when he reached the last door did he see some promising cans at the bottom of the shelving unit. He pulled the door open and crouched down to examine the labels. The first two had a label about as long as his arm, but the next two both bore the label N2, along with a bright red label reading _DANGER: LIQUID NITROGEN. EXTREME COLD. DO NOT TOUCH._ _‘Fucking finally.’_

Michael shoved the other useless cans aside and grabbed the handles of the two nitrogen canisters. To him, they were about as heavy as a pint-sized paint can, though they were much more awkward to carry. Weirdly enough, they weren’t as cold as he expected them to be. Then again, Michael was fucking freezing himself, so maybe it was just relative. _‘Whatever. The sooner I get this shit to Ryan, the better.’_ He shuffled awkwardly through the lab and hurried up the stairs. He sighed with relief when he reached the kitchen, but halted on the threshold.

Smoke drifted around the ceiling and curled around the various appliances. A dull crackling sounded from nearby, and he could feel the temperature gradually increasing. _‘Oh God.’_ He sniffed at the air and was nearly bowled over by the stench of burning plastic, paint, wood and metal. _‘Shit… **no** …’ _Panic welled in his chest, and he fought the urge to run away. Then the more rational part of his brain floated an idea across his fear-flooded consciousness: Gavin was still in this burning shit-hole, and Edgar was trapped downstairs. Michael thought about what he should do, and he unfortunately saw only one way out of this mess. _‘Fuck my life…these fuckers better buy me shit or suck my dick or…something.’_

He set the cans down on the kitchen floor and went back into the lab. Tendrils of smoke were already wafting down the stairs, meaning Michael’s time was quickly running out. He sprinted past all the tables and into the hole. The other creatures shrieked and called to him as he ran by, but he had to keep going. He didn’t have the keys to their cages anyway.

Edgar napped peacefully in a corner of his pit, tail twitching ever so gently over the hay-strewn floor. Michael ran over to the control panel and slammed his hand down on the big blue button. An alarm wailed, and a light flashed in bright yellow warning. The ground trembled menacingly while the wall opposite Edgar and the exit to the Hole shifted slightly. Edgar’s ears twitched; he lifted his head and sniffed at the air. A gap appeared at the wall’s edges, and it started to sink into the ground. The great minotaur jumped to his feet and roared loudly. “It’s your lucky day, Edgar,” said Michael. “Jailbreak time.” The wall slid all the way into the ground, and the rumbling stopped. Edgar roared again and charged into the newly revealed tunnel. _‘Okay, the killer cow monster is free…the fuck do I do now?’_

There was a loud shattering of glass from above, and Michael decided standing around was not the best course of action. He ran back through the lab, feeling a slight pang of guilt when he saw the other monsters trapped in their cages. He still had no idea where the keys were. _‘Sorry, guys. Hope the fire doesn’t get down here.’_

Michael ran back up the stairs and into the smoky kitchen. He grabbed both of the canisters and raced into the living room. Orange and yellow flames danced at the window, over the floor and in the hallway, the crackling became a full on roar, and the stench of smoke grew stronger. Through the fire and the smoke he caught a glimpse of the stairs leading to the upper floor, where he suspected Gavin was…doing whatever Gavin did when he was alone. _‘Now I have to go save his ass. Go fucking figure.’_

He took the stairs two at a time, beating at the thick black smoke and coughing loudly. “Gav! Gavin! The fuck are you, asshole!”

“Michael!” the undead Brit screamed, but from where, Michael couldn’t tell. “It’s all buggered up!”

“No _shit_ it’s all ‘buggered’ up! The fucking _house_ is on _fire!_ ” Smoke clouded his vision, so he squinted in an attempt to improve it. He managed to find a door, but when he tried the knob, it wouldn’t budge. “You’ve got to be fucking _kidding_ me!” He scowled and twisted the knob as hard as he could. There was a screech of rusty metal, a _crunch,_ and the knob, as well as a great deal of the surrounding wood, came off in his hand. He tossed it away and pushed the door open. “Keep your shit together, Gavin. I’m…here…to…” Michael trailed off, eyes widening as he took in his surroundings.

At first glance, he appeared to have entered an empty bedroom, but upon closer inspection, he saw several shriveled, leathery… _things_ on the floor, with faded brown lines connecting all of them in an intricate, spidery circle. The same design was echoed on the walls, but when Michael looked to check the ceiling, the smoke had already billowed in and covered it. _‘Holy fucking shit, what the hell is all this?!’_ There was not enough time for him to ponder this, though, so he turned around, juggling the cans awkwardly under his arms, and ran back into the hall. He was about to call out for Gavin when the sewn-together undead screeched loudly. _‘Well, **that** answers my question.’ _

He charged toward the sound, hit the door head-on, and smashed through it like a fucking wrecking ball. “Oh _yeah!_ ” he called out. “I’m here, Gav!”

Gavin peeped out from the bathroom door and blinked at him. “Oh, thank _Christ!_ Michael, what the toss is going on?” His gaze flicked down to the canisters in his arms. “What the – what?”

“Long story. Let’s just focus on getting out of here.” Michael walked over, shoved one of the cans into Gavin’s arms, and used his now free hand to pull Gavin into the hallway. The ground shook beneath their feet, and Michael heard the sound of splintering timber. “Fuck. I think we just lost the stairs.”

“Oh _God_ Michael, we’re gonna dead!”

“Shut up, Gavin! Let me think!” Michael glanced around, and saw the boarded up window opposite him and Gavin. “Oh, shit…”

“What is it _now?!_ ”

“Looks like…we’re gonna have to…jump,” said Michael.

“What? Jump where?” Gavin struggled to turn and look at the window. “Michael, you’re _seriously_ not thinking-”

“Yeah, I seriously _am_ thinking, Gavin.” He grabbed a handful of Gavin’s shirt and shifted so his left shoulder was perpendicular to the wall. “Hold on tight, bitch.”

“You can’t…you shouldn’t…oh _God!_ ”

Michael ignored him and charged toward the window. Fingers wrapped around his arm and dug into his flesh, and he hoped the sewn-together undead would be strong enough not to be flung loose. The boards beneath their feet groaned loudly, and Michael felt them begin to fall into the inferno consuming the house. He closed his eyes right when he hit the window. Boards snapped and broke like twigs, and Gavin screamed loudly in his ear. Abruptly, they ran out of ground and tumbled into the evening, trailing bits of flaming wood and glass in their wake. Michael stretched out his legs in time to hit the ground. His feet slammed into the scorched earth; several horrible, crunchy snaps sounded, and he fell backwards on his ass. Gavin squawked indignantly and stumbled away from him. Michael squinted open his eyes and looked down. His ankles were twisted into unnatural positions, and both tibias and fibulas were broken and jutted from his calves like daggers. Black blood oozed out of the wounds, soaked into his pants and dripped forlornly from his broken bones.

“Well…at least I’m not on fire,” he said. Gavin went sheet white, turned around and retched loudly. “Shut up, Gavin.”

“But…your _legs,_ Michael. Your bleeding _legs…_ ”

“Yeah, they _are_ bleeding. Good observation, Gavin!” Michael used the N2 canister to haul himself into an upright position, but it was clear he would not be walking any time soon. “You, uh, wanna help a bro out here, Gavin?”

“Oh _God…_ ”

“What, do you expect me to fucking _crawl_ to Ryan? Hell no.” Even so, he edged his can forward half a foot or so and pulled himself forward. He could already feel the smashed bones in his feet knitting themselves back together; hopefully, the rest of his legs would quickly follow suit. “Seriously, Gavin, some time this year would be nice.”

Gavin paled noticeably, but he walked over to Michael and helped him to his mangled feet. It was only then that Michael realized he did not have the other canister. “Where the fuck – where did you put that fucking can, Gavin?! We _needed_ that!”

“What, the can thing? I put it down, Michael. It was too effing heavy.”

“ _Where_ did you put it down, dickhead?” Gavin glanced up at the house, or, more specifically, at the window that was now spewing orange and yellow flames. Michael groaned loudly and hung his head. “You _moron._ ” He grabbed the remaining canister’s handle and tucked it against his Gavin-free side. “When Ryan inevitably gets pissed off when his awesome ice gun runs out of ammo, I’m blaming you.”

“I have _no_ idea what you’re on about.”

“Again, it’s a long story. Just get moving.” Michael lifted his left foot and gestured vaguely in the direction of the front lawn. “Sometime soon would be _really_ fucking nice.”

Slowly but surely Michael and Gavin made their way toward the front lawn. His bones weren’t healing as fast as he would like, so he was forced to rely on Gavin’s support, which was weak at best. At the very least, his feet no longer felt like they were screwed on backwards.

The fight had only gotten worse when Michael returned. The fire had long since finished off the grass in the lawn and claimed the fields beyond the fence. Ryan and Geoff were engaged in a complicated dance of fire and…science shit, lobbing and dodging like crazy. Jack was running laps in the yard, a furious and drooling werewolf hot on his heels. All in all, it was very not good.

“Ryan!” Michael called. “I, uh, have…kinda…good news, bad news and _really_ bad news!”

The scientist glanced briefly at him. “Really bad news first, please.”

“Uh, well, yeah, I, uh, don’t know if you’ve noticed, but…your fucking house is on fire.”

Ryan’s back stiffened, and he spun wildly on his heel. His head slowly craned up, and Michael watched the orange tongues of flame dance in the lenses of his goggles. “Wh- _what?!_ No, no, NO!” He ran forward, but halted when a blast of fire burst from the front doorway. “Why is everything on _fire?_ This – fucking – I – _no!_ ”

“Um, in, uh, slightly better but still fucking bad news,” said Michael, “Edgar’s free.”

Ryan looked at him. “Edgar’s what?”

A thunderous roar trumpeted from the back of the house. The Ray-wolf stopped in his tracks and perked up his ears. He turned toward the noise and growled loudly. Another roar sounded, louder than the last, and this time the werewolf roared back and charged. A black mass emerged from the shadows and met the wolf head on. There was a heavy _thud,_ a _crunch,_ and the wolf flew backwards with a loud yelp. The minotaur roared loudly, struck the ground with his fists and charged after him, hooves tearing into the sooty ground and sending dirt and ash flying.

Ryan dropped his head into his hands. “…Do I even _want_ to know what the ‘kinda’ good news is?”

Michael held out the N2 canister. “I got your shit.”

He glanced up. “You…only got one?”

“Yeah, well, I made the fucking rookie mistake of trusting Gavin with the other one.” Michael pointed at Gavin, who grinned nervously. “He left it in the bedroom, so…it’s probably completely destroyed now.”

Ryan groaned loudly. “This keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

“At least we’re here now, right?” asked Gavin.

“That…doesn’t…make me feel any better.”

“Aw, what?”

“Okay, enough fucking complaining!” Michael unlooped his arm from Gavin’s shoulders and shoved the remaining canister into his arms. “You fucking help Ryan with his stupid gun, and I’ll see what I can do about Ray and Edgar. Also, where the fuck’s Geoff?”

“Fuck if I know. He vanished right when you showed up.”

“Perfect. Just…great.” Michael attempted to run toward the whirling tornado of claws and fur, but his legs were still not quite healed, so he had to settle for an awkward wobbling waddle. “Even better! My legs don’t fucking work! This seriously _cannot_ get worse.”

“MICHAEL!” He looked over his shoulder and saw a very angry demon careening toward him, body wreathed in flames. “GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!”

_‘New idea…keep my fucking mouth shut.’_ Desperate for some sort of escape, Michael picked up a clod of dirt and threw it at the great mass of fur in front of him. It burst harmlessly over Edgar’s back, but it did catch his attention. He tossed the Ray-wolf away from him and turned to investigate. His red eyes landed on the attacking demon, and that was enough for Edgar. He bellowed, bent his head, and charged. Michael ducked and somehow managed to escape harm, but Geoff was not so lucky. Edgar’s twin horns caught the demon square in the chest and sent him flying backwards. There was a single moment of peace, and then the werewolf leaped onto Edgar’s back and sank his teeth into his neck. The beast screamed loudly and spun in circles, trying to dislodge the wolf and failing. Michael edged around them and raked his fingers through the earth, searching desperately for the little lead box the necklace had come in. It probably wasn’t such a great idea to put it away right now, seeing as the werewolf was still clawing and biting Edgar’s back, but Michael would feel a bit safer knowing he’d have a ‘return Ray to human form’ button at his disposal. He just hoped it hadn’t been melted or stomped on. Though, knowing his luck, it probably had. _‘Fuck me.’_

“How are you _doing_ this, you asshole?!” he heard Geoff scream. “You’re fucking _human!_ ”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“I don’t – I – shut up!”

Michael snorted and continued to rifle through the ashes and soot. His fingers hit something and knocked it aside. He started and scrambled over to the…whatever it was. The missing box lay innocently in the ash, blackened by fire but otherwise unharmed. He grabbed it and jumped to his feet. Thankfully, his legs were nearly healed, and he was able to run back toward the others.

Edgar roared loudly and stampeded into Michael’s path. He skidded to a stop and narrowly managed being squished into meat paste. In the meantime, the minotaur reached over his shoulders and sank his claws into the werewolf’s back. The wolf let out a horrible screech of pain, and Edgar flung him to the ground. Before the wolf could react, Edgar charged and tore into the werewolf with fangs and claws. Blood spattered over the ground and soaked into the ash and soot.

“Get the fuck off my friend, asshole!” Michael ran forward and punched Edgar’s back as hard as he could. Edgar roared in pain and lashed out with a hoof. Michael jumped aside, stumbled and fell over. “ _Fuck!_ ” He jumped to his feet. Edgar had turned back to the Ray-wolf and resumed shredding him to pieces. _‘Fuck…fuck…he’s gonna fucking kill him and it’s all my fucking fault…’_

One hand-like paw raised into the air and swiped across Edgar’s face. The minotaur screamed loudly and stumbled back, clawed hands pawing at his eyes. The werewolf pushed himself to his feet and teetered over to the fence. Blood soaked his brown fur and dripped onto the ground. The wolf whined loudly and leaned against the fence, trembling violently. Michael ran over to him, but stopped before he could get too close. The werewolf’s ear twitched, and he looked over at the undead. The yellow had bled out of his eyes, leaving only brown behind. He whined again and limped over to Michael. Both his hind legs were dragging behind him, and his tongue flopped out of his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Ray, I am _so_ fucking sorry.” He reached out and scratched behind the wolf’s ear. He briefly considered putting the necklace away and turning Ray back into a human, but he had no idea what would happen when he did so. For all he knew Ray would instantly die the moment he transformed. “Fuck, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Ryan, you fucking _asshole_ …”

“Michael!” Gavin sprinted over to him and bent double, panting hard. “Michael, what the _toss_ is going on?!”

“Is now _really_ the time for this, Gavin? There’s a fucking minotaur on the loose, Geoff and Ryan are fighting so hard they’ve set Ryan’s fucking house on fire, Ray’s been shredded to bits and I have no idea where the fuck Jack went.” Michael sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We seriously need to get out of here.”

“But Michael-”

“But _what,_ Gavin? This shit’s already gotten _way_ too crazy for _any_ of us to handle!” The werewolf nudged Michael’s shoulder, leaving a bloody noseprint on his shirt. Michael reached back and pet the wolf’s muzzle. “I _really_ don’t want to have my mind fucking blasted into a billion pieces, you’re fucking useless and Ray’s asshole’s been pummeled enough already. Seriously, we’re down already, we don’t need to be out, too.”

“But…but…where are we _going,_ Michael?”

“Uh…” Michael glanced over at the others. Edgar had blundered right into the middle of Geoff and Ryan’s fight, which sent both of them running for cover. Ryan had discarded his liquid nitrogen gun thing and was now attempting to either calm or corral the giant beast while simultaneously dodging Geoff’s attacks. Most of Ryan’s house was engulfed in flames, and several of the porch’s support struts were cracking dangerously. Jack was nowhere to be seen.

Then Michael’s gaze landed on the battered, bloody and panting werewolf. “We’ll go to Ray’s place,” he whispered. It wasn’t like Geoff was paying attention anyway, but it was better to be safe than sorry. “It’s not like we have any other choices.”

“Do you even _know_ where that is, Michael?”

“No, but Ray does.” Michael pulled the heavy necklace out of his pocket, placed it back in the box and shut it tightly. “Let’s hope he’s fucking healed by this, otherwise we’re gonna have a dead Puerto Rican on our hands, in addition to being royally fucked in the anus.”

“Do you really think this’ll work, Michael?”

“Do we _have_ any other choice, Gavin?”

The werewolf howled loudly, drowning out whatever response Gavin was about to make. His bones creaked, and he curled upon himself like a wilting flower. Gavin went even paler, and turned away with a loud, gargling retch.

“C’mon, hurry up,” said Michael, “we don’t have that much time, we need to get out of here.”

“Let’s just get out of here, Michael!”

“Okay, then.” Michael grabbed Gavin’s shoulder and made him look at the rapidly shrinking, increasingly less furry werewolf. “If you want to carry him, be my fucking guest, Gavin.”

Gavin covered his mouth and closed his eyes. “I…I bloody can’t watch, Michael.”

“Then don’t watch, Gavin.”

A cry sounded from the curled form on the ground; it was twisted and warped, but sounded a lot more human than it did wolf. Fur retreated back into flesh and darkened into black hair. Claws shrank and paled into nails. Ears migrated from the top to either side of his head. He convulsed one last time, howled pitifully at the sky, and then collapsed onto the ashen ground.

Michael counted to ten, and then asked, “Ray? Can you hear me?”

Ray didn’t answer for a long moment. Then he groaned. “Holy fucking shit, can someone tell me why the fuck my entire body hurts?” He braced his hands on the ground and gingerly pushed himself into a sitting position. “Ow ow ow ow ow, Jesus fucking Christ just kill me now oh my God this hurts.”

“Well, Ryan decided you’d be his fucking ace in the hole and used that necklace to make you transform into a werewolf, and then I, uh…well, I fucking set Edgar free, and Edgar pushed your shit in so hard it came out your fucking mouth.”

The werewolf considered this for a moment. “So…should I be angry at _you,_ or should I be angry at _Ryan?_ I mean, either way I’m fucking pissed.”

“ _Definitely_ be mad at Ryan. _He’s_ the one who made you turn.”

“Good point.” Ray struggled to stand, but his legs trembled like those of a newborn fawn, and he collapsed. “Oh, fuck me. Can somebody help a brother out?”

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Michael walked over and pulled Ray to his feet. Both he and Gavin did their best to avert their eyes from the werewolf’s naked body. “We are gonna _have_ to get you some new fucking clothes, Ray. Jesus Christ.”

Ray squinted at Michael and managed to crack a grin. “Aw, no meatspin, then?”

Michael groaned loudly. “I will fucking drop you, I swear to God.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just…let’s get out of here.”

“You heard the man, Gav. Let’s get out of here while we still can.”

He tugged Ray toward the large hole in the fence, and a brief check behind him told him Gavin was following quietly. The fight kept the gents busy, and they left without anyone noticing them. Ray’s feet dragged in the dust, so, against his feeble protests, Michael got an arm under his legs and lifted him up bridal style. Scabs and red marks had flared up all over the werewolf’s body, and Michael was sure they’d blossom into black and blue bruises the following day. He found himself being a tiny bit glad that he was dead and thus unable to bruise.

“Michael?” he heard Gavin ask.

“What?”

“How, exactly, do you plan to get to Ray’s apartment?”

“That’s easy, we…we’ll…” Michael came to this stumbling block rather suddenly, and it put a damper on his already limited plans for the future. None of them had either a car with which to drive, or money with which to pay someone to drive them home. Michael wasn’t even sure his phone still worked, considering that he’d dropped at least one story and landed on his ass. “Well, fuck. Looks like we’re walking.”

“Oh, _bollocks_.”

“Don’t fucking complain! It’ll just make it worse.”

Ray, who looked like he was trying his best to pass out, cracked open an eye at this. “Question.”

“What now?”

“ _Why_ my place, exactly?”

“Name _one_ other place we can go, and we’ll fucking go.”

“Uh…” The werewolf sighed deeply and let his head flop back against Michael’s arm. “Fine.”

“Great. Now that we all agree _where_ we’re going, let’s figure out _how_ we’re getting there.”

“We could hitchhike,” Gavin suggested.

“What is this, the nineties? Nobody does that shit anymore.”

“I thought it was illegal,” said Ray. “Isn’t it illegal?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Michael shook his head. “But…fuck it, I guess. It’s the only fucking idea we have.”

“How do we explain our appearance? And Ray’s bloody naked!”

“Excuse you, I’m _regular_ naked.”

“No, you’re actually pretty bloody, Ray. And bruised.”

“Really? Shit, no wonder I feel awful.”

That gave Michael an idea. It wasn’t the best idea, but, then again, nothing they were doing at this moment fell under the ‘best idea’ umbrella. “We were at a Halloween party that got out of control…and we left when they called the cops…but our friends were the ones who drove us to the place where the party was…which is why we need a ride home.” He looked back at Gavin. “Sound convincing enough?”

“Well…maybe…it _might_ work, Michael.”

“What are you gonna say about me?” asked Ray.

“Uh…you tried to bang some drunk dude’s girlfriend and he caught you and threw you down the stairs?” Michael suggested.

The werewolf snorted. “Like that would ever happen.”

“And that’s why the police were called, yeah?” said Gavin. “Cause they started fighting and shite.”

“That…actually sounds kind of reasonable, Gavin.”

“Thanks, Michael.”

“Hey, let’s not start jerking each other off until we get out of here, okay?”

“I don’t know, I’m kind of down for jerking off right now,” said Ray.

“I swear, if your hand goes anywhere near your penis while I’m holding you, you can fucking _walk_ home, Ray.”

“Lame.”

Michael snorted, and continued walking toward the road. Gavin followed relatively quietly behind him, and Ray eventually passed out in his arms. In the distance, Michael was just able to hear a muffled roar, indicating that the battle they’d left to the gents was far from over. Privately, the undead felt just a little bit bad for leaving Ryan and Jack behind, especially considering Ryan had just put himself squarely on Geoff’s bad side, but he did his best to convince himself that they would be okay. After all, they had known Geoff a _lot_ longer than Michael had. Surely they would find a way to pacify the angry demon.

_‘In the meantime, I’m getting the fuck out of here.’_ With that thought, Michael walked further into the barren fields, one lad on his heels and the other unconscious in his arms. Though it meant they had an angry demon on their ass, and Ryan’s home had gotten completely destroyed, Michael couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. It felt like a year’s worth of tension had been released in one long night, and he could finally breathe. Not that he needed to, but it was a nice feeling in any case.

Now all he needed to do was find a way to avoid getting caught again, keep his memories, and protected his fellow lads. All while operating with limited funds in a miniscule apartment that he had to hitchhike to with an unconscious naked young man and a Frankensteinian Brit and a face that would make the even the toughest of motherfuckers quaver in their boots.

_‘…I’m fucked.’_


	27. Licking Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lads settle down in Ray's place. Their peace is quite shortlived.

It took them about an hour to catch a ride, but luckily the beaten, battered and weary trio were picked up by an already overloaded truck filled with college students who believed their story immediately. Michael roused Ray long enough to get the werewolf’s address, and then Ray passed right the fuck back out. They were loaded into the truck’s flatbed posthaste and zipped off into the night. Riding in the open was not exactly Michael’s idea of a stellar escape, but hell, he would settle for a shitty escape. At least they _were_ escaping.

They spent the journey huddled near the rear windshield. Michael and Gavin did their best to shield Ray from the wind and the stares of the other passengers and driver. The werewolf’s head lolled in Michael’s lap, which might not have been the best place for it, since Michael was apparently cold as fuck. He wasn’t complaining, though.

He wished Gavin might follow that particular suit, but he had no such luck. “Why’re we sitting back _here,_ Michael?”

“Because there’s no room for us in the truck,” said Michael. “Just be fucking thankful they actually _agreed_ to take us home. They could’ve given us the bird and kept going.”

“But-”

“But _nothing,_ Gavin. We don’t fucking _have_ the luxury to be picky, alright?”

Gavin gave him a woebegone look, but he did not respond, and slumped back against the truck. Michael rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the unconscious werewolf. The Puerto Rican’s face was an unhealthy grey color, and his eyes flickered and rolled beneath their lids. Already the red marks on his body were turning dark black and blue. Several of his scabs had split during the ride; blood oozed slowly between the cracks and dribbled down his skin. Michael’s dead heart sank into his stomach. _‘And it’s still a fucking…what, fifteen, twenty minute drive to his place? **And** he’s in a horrible fucking condition already…fuck me in my stupid, fat asshole. Why the hell did I let that fucking bull monster out, huh?’_

One long, cold, windy and uncomfortable ride later, they finally arrived in the parking lot of Ray’s apartment complex. Michael scooped Ray up and hopped down from the truck bed, Gavin following closely behind. An offer to ditch “the Latino” and join the group for more drinks was met with Michael’s middle finger, so, with several hoots of laughter, the truck turned about and drove off into the night. “Good riddance,” Michael said, and mounted the first stair.

“Michael?” Gavin asked.

“What?”

“How d’you plan to get into Ray’s apartment? His keys are gone.”

Michael thought about it for about three seconds. “I’ll just have to break the door down.”

“You’ll _what?_ ”

“Break the door down, dude. I have fucking super strength, it won’t be that hard.”

The sewn-together undead groaned loudly. “God, Michael, you’re so _stupid!_ We’ll be taken in for…bloody…what is it, GBH?”

“It’s B&E, Gavin, not whatever the fuck GBH stands for.”

They reached the door of Ray’s apartment. Michael shifted Ray slightly so he could grasp the doorknob with his right hand. He twisted it as hard as he could. The metal strained, creaked, and then snapped, and the door opened without further ado. “See? Look how easy that was. And it doesn’t even look like we broke in!”

“Keep it down, Michael!”

“Fine, okay! Jesus fucking Christ.”

He carried Ray over to the battered couch and gently set him down. A brief search of his immediate surroundings revealed a plush microfiber Pokémon blanket folded neatly on a nearby ottoman. Michael shook his head, but collected it and spread it over his friend without comment. The werewolf mumbled softly and rolled over onto his side. _‘Well, at least he’ll be okay. Sore as hell, but okay.’_

With that done, he went to find Gavin. It wasn’t particularly hard, considering the size of the apartment, so in about a minute he discovered the sewn-together undead sitting on Ray’s bed.

“Hey, Gav,” he greeted.

The Brit twitched and looked up. “What? Oh, hi, Michael.”

“Why’re you sitting on Ray’s bed? You tired or something?”

Gavin didn’t answer right away. He spent a good few minutes staring at the tidy bedside table, and Michael decided to go ahead and wait for him to talk. Then he finally spoke. “Can you tell me…why everyone was fighting, Michael? I’ve been thinking about it, but…” He shrugged.

“Oh, _that_.” The undead sighed deeply and flopped back onto the bed. “Well, I royally pissed Geoff off, and everything just went to shit after that.”

Gavin sat up straight and stared at him with wide hazel-and-red eyes. “How’d you do that, Michael? I didn’t even think that was _possible!_ ”

Michael stared up at the popcorn ceiling and bit his lip. “Uh…well…I…uh…I found a way to get my memory back, so…I did.”

“Really? Wow. Good for you, Michael.”

He snorted. “Yeah, it was great until Geoff fucking blew his top and went fucking nuts.”

“Why is he so against you having your memories, boi?”

He threw an arm over his eyes and sagged into the mattress. “If I knew _that,_ none of this would have happened.” He was silent for a moment. “Then Ryan fucking threw his hat in the ring, and everything just got ten thousand times worse.”

“ _Ryan_ did _what?!_ ”

“Started fighting Geoff. He said he was tired of running and hiding…I _think_ …it has something to do with-” He cut himself off abruptly. He’d been about to say it had something to do with the deal he had made with Geoff, but something told him it would be a bad idea to start jabbering about it. There was no telling what would happen to him…or, possibly, to Ryan. “Whatever the fuck it was about, it pissed Geoff off so much. Then Ryan forced Ray to turn, and I set Edgar free, and shit just spiraled down from there.”

Gavin spent several minutes digesting this new information. “I still have no idea what happened.”

“Tough shit. I literally _just_ explained it to you. It’s not _my_ fault you’re too dumb to get it.”

“Aw, _Michael!_ Why’d you have to be so _mean?_ ” The sewn-together Brit feigned crying for several seconds, hands over his eyes and everything.

“Because you’re such a fucking prick, Gavin,” said Michael matter-of-factly.

“You’re a right sausage, you know that?”

“The fuck does that even mean?”

“It means you’re a prick, you prick!”

Michael sat up and lunged for Gavin, who screeched and rolled off the bed. Several seconds of scrambling later, Gavin was on his feet and darting for the door, Michael hot on his heels. They pelted down the hallway and careened into the living room, where Gavin stumbled over his own mismatched feet. Michael seized his opportunity and tackled the Brit to the ground. “You want to say that to my fucking _face,_ asshole?” he taunted.

“Michael! Sod off, you bastard! You’re gonna bust my effing stitches!”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No I wouldn’t, you tosser!”

“Will you stop with the fucking made up names?”

“They’re not made up!”

“They _absolutely_ are!”

“They _are not!_ ”

“ _Hey!_ ” Both of them jumped and looked around. Ray was sitting up on the couch and squinting over in their direction. “Can’t a guy pass out in fucking peace around here?”

“Sorry, Ray, I was just telling Gavin how stupid he is.” Gavin wriggled beneath him when Michael said this, so he let a little more of his weight rest on his fellow undead. The squawk of indignation that sounded when he did so was quite satisfying. “Shut up, Gav, you know it’s true.”

The werewolf groaned and sunk back onto the couch. “Whatever. I don’t care. Just be quiet so I can be miserable in peace.” He pulled the Pokémon blanket over his head and curled into a sad little lump.

“What? Why’re you miserable, X-Ray?” asked Gavin.

One tired brown eye peeped over the blanket’s edge and glared at the Brit. “Why the fuck do you think, idiot? Maybe it’s because I woke up feeling like I’d been stuck in a fucking dryer with a bunch of rocks and knives…and _looked_ like it, too.” He retreated beneath the blanket and sagged into the couch cushion.

“Sorry to bother you, Ray,” said Michael. Ray’s bruised and battered hand edged out from the blanket and gave him the finger. “Fine. I’ll shut up.” He pulled Gavin to his feet and pushed him toward the kitchen. “C’mon, Gavin, let’s fucking scope out the kitchen. See if there’s anything awesome in there.”

* * *

 

Three days passed without event. Ray lazed on the couch and watched reruns of _Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives._ His wounds were healing faster than expected, but still not fast enough for anybody’s liking. Gavin mostly hung out with Ray, and thus was subjected to a doctoral dissertation on the wonders of Guy Fieri. Poor Gavin looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler…if the eighteen wheeler had spiked blond hair and a bad goatee.

Michael left them to their own devices in favor of doing some research on Ray’s computer. His connection was not the greatest in the world, but it was enough to serve his needs. He managed to pull up some of the articles Ryan had found online, but he suspected that unless he was willing to become some sort of ungodly hacker, a good chunk of the information given to him by the scientist would remain out of his limits. Not for the last time he wished he could have done something to actually help, or even better stop the fight. But _no, he_ set a minotaur on his only friends and ran like a pussy. _‘I’m such an asshole. The fuck have I done, exactly?’_

When the search did not yield any new fruit – so, nearly every damn minute of every damn day – Michael set details of his murder on the back burner and instead searched for anything and everything he could find on summoning demons and doing deals with demons. He ignored the multitude of Tumblrs and Blogspots and forums that claimed to have dealt with demons, or who _were,_ in fact, demons, or just listed insane theories about how famous stars had made deals with demons so they could vanish off the face of the earth. As funny or weird as they were, they were of no help whatsoever to Michael. Wikipedia mostly provided shit he already knew, but he read through the article anyway, trying to find _any_ way he could preserve his memory and get Geoff off his back.

_…according to traditional Christian belief in witchcraft, the pact is between a person and Satan or a lesser demon. The person offers his or her soul in return for diabolical favors. These favors vary by the tale, but tend to include youth, knowledge, wealth, fame or power._

Michael couldn’t help but snort at that. _‘Seriously? That’s all the shit they got on demon deals? Hell, Ryan’s deal was the exact fucking **opposite** of fame, and Lindsay…whatever she did, it was to raise me from the dead, and I don’t see **that** on the list. Fucking Wikipedia.’ _However, he doubted he would be smart enough to read an _actual_ scholarly paper on the subject. Shit, the first couple words in the Wikipedia article had almost thrown him off reading it completely.

_It was also believed that some persons made this type of pact just as a sign of recognizing the Devil as their master, in exchange for nothing._

_‘That’s fucking stupid,’_ thought Michael. _‘Nobody’d give their soul away for nothing. Fucking idiots.’_

_Nevertheless, the bargain is considered a dangerous one, as the price of the Fiend’s service is the wagerer’s soul._

_‘Or half a soul. Or whatever Lindsay gave.’_

The next part of the article just talked about tales and figures in history who were thought to have dealt with the devil, so Michael skipped past all that shit. The first pact in the overview was also ignored, as it largely dealt with superstitions or ‘warning signs’. Then he got to a part dealing with the deals themselves, and his dead heart clenched slightly.

_The pact can be oral or written. An oral pact is made by means of invocations, conjurations or rituals to attract the demon. Once the conjurer thinks the demon is present, he/she asks for the wanted favor and offers his/her soul in exchange._

_‘Okay, great. I know all this shit. What else?!’_

_A written pact consists of the same forms of attracting the demon, but includes a written act, usually signed with the conjurer’s blood (although sometimes was also alleged that the whole act had to be written with blood, meanwhile some demonologists defended the idea of using red ink instead of blood and others suggested the use of animal blood instead of human blood)._

Michael stared at this paragraph for a few long moments. Distantly, he heard the TV switch from the Food Network to the Xbox startup screen, and a low murmur of conversation between Gavin and Ray. He paid it no heed and instead reread the last sentence. _‘A pact written in blood…’_ Something he’d wondered about since running from Ryan’s place resurfaced in his mind; the locked room in Ryan’s house, which he suspected was the one with the weird rusty circles drawn on the walls and floor. If this information was correct, though…once those brown circles had been bright red, and the shriveled leathery things…Michael hated to think what _those_ might have been. _‘So Ryan’s shithole house is the house he made the deal with Geoff in…why the fuck would he want to **live** there?! Did he seriously have nowhere else to go?’ _He looked up at the ceiling and tried to remember the exact shape of the circles, but three days and the panic of the time had faded the memory beyond his comprehension. It wouldn’t really help him in any case, he supposed.

Suddenly, there was a sharp rapping on the front door. Michael jumped in his chair, and he heard a variety of nonsensical swears emanate from the living room. Several seconds later, Gavin ran into the tiny office, Ray hobbling on his heels. “Michael, who the toss is that?”

Michael glared at him. “How the fuck should I know? I’m _dead,_ not fucking _psychic._ ”

“Should we check? I mean, I _know_ we’re supposed to be in hiding and shit, but…” Ray trailed off and fidgeted nervously.

“How about this: _I’ll_ check the door, and you guys can suck each other off in the corner.” Michael stood and left the room. The knock sounded again, softer and less urgently this time, and he hurried to stand in front of the door. It hadn’t been fixed yet, so Michael had blocked it off with a box that was apparently pretty heavy. Not that he’d know. He stood awkwardly on the doormat for several seconds before stooping and peering through the peephole.

“Oh my God.”

Ryan stood on the doorstep of the apartment. His lab coat, already worn and dirty, was completely splattered with mud and torn to shreds. Bloody tears peppered his filthy jeans and the bottom of his shirt. A massive blackened scab-like mark sat squarely over his heart, and occasionally the scientist reached up and nursed it with one hand. One of the lenses of his glasses was cracked in half, giving the appearance that his iris had split in two. His blond hair was mussed, and blood clumped in the roots. He leaned against the wall and panted heavily, and as Michael watched, he reached up and rapped weakly on the door.

Without further ado, Michael moved the box and opened the door. “You look like complete and utter dog shit,” he greeted. Ryan opened his mouth, but did not say anything. Instead, he waved his hand vaguely and nodded. His panting and wheezing had slowed a little by this point; Michael was ninety-nine percent certain Ryan had spent the past three days traveling to Ray’s apartment on foot. The poor guy looked like he’d pass out at any moment. “Well, uh, come in…I guess.”

“Th-thank…you,” Ryan finally managed. He pushed himself off the wall and hobbled into the apartment. His left foot dragged behind him, and upon further examination, Michael saw that the area from mid-calf to foot was burned to charred blackness. If the _clothes_ looked that bad, Michael was loath to think what the _skin_ must look like. A lick of fear ran down his back at the thought of fucking _fire,_ but he squashed it fairly quickly.

In the meantime, Ryan limped over to Ray’s shitty couch and collapsed. His head flopped onto one of the mismatched pillows, and in the time it would take to say “What the fuck happened to you?” he was asleep.

“So…” Michael started and turned around. Both Ray and Gavin were peering around the door jamb curiously. “On a scale of one to ten, how dead are we?”

“Is…is that Ryan?” asked Gavin. “What’s _he_ doing here?!”

“I don’t fucking know.” Michael made to sit down on the couch, remembered it was currently occupied, and collapsed on the floor instead. “He just…kinda…showed up.”

“And you just _let him in?_ ” Ray moved into the open doorway and scowled. “Y’know this could be a fucking _trap,_ right?!”

“Sure, it _could_ be a fucking trap, but…but…fucking _look_ at him!” Michael lifted a hand, but couldn’t decided quite what to point at, so he settled for sweeping over the scientist as a whole. “He looks like he got into a fight with a fucking Thresher Maw – and _lost_.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s not, like, fucking, I don’t know, being tracked or something!”

“With _what?_ ”

“A fucking _spell,_ maybe?”

“Do you really think Geoff knows how to do a fucking _tracking_ spell? He barely knew how to _resurrect_ me, for God’s sake!”

“Shut up, both of you!” They both glared at Gavin, who faltered slightly. “We’re all we’ve got, lads. Let’s try not to muck it all up, yeah?”

“That’s what I’m _trying_ to do!” Ray shouted.

“You…you know…” All three of them jumped at the sound of a new voice. They looked down and saw one of Ryan’s tired blue eyes gazing blearily back at them. “If…I can leave, if it’s…” He attempted to rise and failed miserably.

“Dude, go back to sleep. You’ve _clearly_ been through the shitter. Just…sleep.”

“Are…are you sure?”

“Why would we force you to move? You were _barely_ standing when you got here!” Ryan sighed deeply and sunk back into the couch. “Don’t listen to them, Ry-Bread. Just sleep.” He hadn’t even finished his sentence when Ryan’s breathing evened out and his brow relaxed.

“Well, if he can’t leave…we might as well take the bait,” said Gavin.

“ _If_ it’s even a trap,” said Michael, “which I _highly_ fucking doubt.”

The werewolf stood and frowned down at Ryan for about a minute before sighing and slackening his aggressive pose. “All right. Fine. He can stay.” He turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be a fucking _bitch_ about it!” Michael yelled after him.

“I’m not! I’m just getting the first aid kit!”

“You still don’t have to be a bitch about it!”

“Get off my ass!”

“Fine! Jesus!” Michael rolled his eyes and turned his attention back toward the unconscious scientist on the couch. Though he had done his best to hide it, inside his mind was plagued with uncertainty. He was not entirely sure if he could trust Ryan one hundred percent; as Ray had said, it _could_ be a trap. If he had thought Geoff was capable of it, he might have even suspected the demon was disguised as Ryan, but he was fairly certain that was beyond Geoff’s meager abilities. Still, he could not help but be suspicious. _‘He’s beaten to shit, though, and even if he wasn’t, I could still take him. I got that super strength shit on my side.’_

At that moment, Ray came back into the living room with a giant opaque plastic container. He set it on the coffee table and dusted off his hands. “Okay, here’s the first aid kit.”

“Thanks, bro.” Michael popped the top off and dug through its contents.

“Why’s your first aid kit so big, Ray?” asked Gavin.

“Because I’m a cutter,” Ray deadpanned. The sewn-together undead gasped loudly. “For fuck’s sake, why do you _think_ I have a giant ass first aid kit, idiot?”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

“Both of you shut up and let me focus.” Michael pulled a set of surgical scissors out of the box and crouched down beside Ryan’s burned foot. Another flash of fear crawled down his spine and set his hairs on edge, but he ignored it. He pulled the burned jeans cuff away from Ryan’s ankle and cut it in two. Luckily for Ryan, the skin was not burned beyond repair. Unluckily for the Lads’ stomachs, it _did_ have serious second degree burns, complete with giant liquid filled pustules and bright cherry red skin. Several of the blisters had burst when the undead pulled away the clothing; yellowish-clear liquid slowly oozed down the scientist’s ankle and dripped onto the floor.

“Oh my God, that is _so_ gross,” Ray whispered. Gavin merely turned away and retched into his arm.

“It could be worse,” said Michael. “You ever _seen_ third-degree burns? Shit is _so_ nasty, dude. It’s like your skin turns into charcoal, and-”

“Shut the fuck up and _do_ something about it before Gavin pukes on my carpet.”

He looked over at the werewolf and snorted. “You’re not looking too hot yourself, Ray.”

“Fuck you, I’m always hot.”

Gavin retched again, so Michael took charge. “Gav, either puke in the fucking bathroom or go to Ray’s room and Google how the fuck we’re supposed to deal with burns like this. Like…am I supposed to _pop_ these, or…?”

“You’d…you’d better not.” Ray backed slowly away from the couch. “At least wait until I’m out of the room.”

Gavin retched one last time and immediately sprinted from the room. Ray, to his credit, did not flee, but turned away from the couch. Since he still had no idea what to do with Ryan’s burned foot, Michael turned to the burned and bloody shirt.

“Why the fuck are you taking care of him, anyway? You’re not his mom,” said Ray.

“Fucking…fucking _look_ at him! Only a horrible fucking asshole would just leave him alone.”

“But…I mean...would he do the same for you?”

“I’m dead. He wouldn’t _have_ to do the same for me.”

“I mean…yeah, you’re right.” Ray fidgeted slightly and glanced at the door to his bedroom. “I’m…gonna help Vav.”

“Fine, go help…wait. Did you just call Gavin ‘Vav’?”

“Well, I mean, he called _himself_ Vav first, so I made fun of him, and then he said it could be his superhero name, and I said it was dumb, and now we’re a superhero duo.”

“So…that makes _you…_ ”

“X-Ray. We’re X-Ray and Vav.” He puffed his chest out just a tiny bit when he said this.

“And you have the powers of…falling apart and shedding everywhere?”

“I don’t fucking _shed,_ you…you…racist.”

“How is that racist?!”

“It’s racist against Puerto Ricans who also happen to be werewolves.”

“Yeah, sure, a likely story. More like you’re just insulted.”

Ray gave him the finger and headed back into the bedroom. “You all right, Vav?” he called, and shut the door behind him.

After some consideration, Michael decided to give up on Ryan for the time being. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of taking the scientist’s shirt off while he was unconscious, even if it was for medical reasons. Besides, if he’d made it this far, surely he’d last a while longer, right? He set the scissors aside and pushed himself to his feet, and was about to leave to check on the “superhero duo” when something sticking out of the lab coat’s soiled pocket caught his eye. He bent down, grasped the thing in question and tugged it out. It turned out to be the prayer slip given to Ryan by Kdin the day before. Though it was crumpled, it had not been damaged. Michael stared at it for several long seconds. _‘So **that’s** how he avoided all those spells. Didn’t stop him getting his shit pushed in, though.’_ With that thought, Michael tucked the slip into his own pocket. _‘I’ll just take that for now…not like he’s gonna need it anytime soon.’_

He straightened and headed for the bedroom. The newly dubbed X-Ray and Vav were examining what looked like WebMD when Michael entered. “Find anything?” he asked. “How badly did I fuck this up?”

“Well, apparently, you’re supposed to leave clothing that’s attached to the burned skin the fuck alone,” said Ray.

“And you’re not supposed to mess with the blisters,” said Gavin.

“Uh…oops.” He ran a hand through his curls and laughed once. “So…what should I _not_ fuck up like an idiot?”

“Uh…scroll down, Gavin.” Gavin dutifully scrolled down. “Um…soak it in water?”

“Give him pain meds,” said Gavin.

“Or put, uh, put…the fuck is ‘aloe vera’?”

“It says you can just put ointment on it and wrap it with gauze,” said Gavin.

“So…what the fuck do I do? You just gave me, like, a _billion_ fucking suggestions!”

“Don’t exaggerate, Michael. It was only four.”

“Shut up, Gavin.”

“Well…you might _want_ to soak it in water to get all the fucking…blister juice off it, _then_ put ointment and gauze on it,” said Ray.

Michael sighed. “That’s _all_ I wanted to know.” He sighed again and glanced back at the door. “I guess I have to grope Ryan’s ankle some more.”

“Hey, at _least_ it’s only his ankle, right?”

“Yeah, and I’m _sure_ all the blood on his pants and shirt came from his ankle.”

“Oh. Uh…I guess you’re gonna have to buy him dinner after this, huh?”

“I’m gonna haveta stop you _right_ there, Ray.” He turned on his heel and marched from the room. “Immature assholes,” he grumbled.

“Fuck you too!” yelled Ray.

“Hey, why’m _I_ an arsehole?”

“Because you’re _you,_ Gavin!”

“Aw, but _why,_ Michael?”

“Because you won’t stop yelling at me!” Michael stormed through the living room and into the kitchen. There he searched through the cabinets until he found a large red popcorn bowl. He took it, stuck it in the sink, and filled it almost to the brim with cold water. Then he slowly lifted it up and stepped into the living room, hyper aware of the rippling water and the myriad of electronics surrounding it. Ray and Gavin were standing over Ryan; Ray had his phone out and Gavin was standing on his tiptoes so he could see the tiny screen. “Okay, I have the fucking water. What do I do now?”

“I guess you just dunk it?” Ray shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I’m not a fucking doctor.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, the doctor’s the one lying on the fucking couch.” Michael crouched down, set the water on the floor, and did his best to gently maneuver Ryan’s foot over to the water bowl.

“Wait, Michael, _don’t!_ ”

Everyone froze in place. The tips of Ryan’s toes just barely skimmed the water’s surface. “Jesus _Christ,_ Gavin, what the fuck is going on?! What’s with the fucking freakout?”

The sewn-together undead stared at Michael with wide, concerned eyes. “If you put his foot in water, won’t he end up pissing himself?”

The other two lads stared incredulously at Gavin. Several moments passed where no-one said anything.

“Uh…I don’t think so?” said Michael.

“Doesn’t the water have to be warm for that to work?” asked Ray.

“I always thought it was the _hand_ you had to dunk, not the fucking _foot_ ,” Michael added.

“Also…” The lads jumped at least a foot in the air and looked over at the couch. Ryan’s eyes were open; he glared tiredly at them and shifted slightly. “I’m not a child, and as you can see, I’m not asleep, either. Even _if_ it worked on most people, which it doesn’t, it’s not going to work on me.”

“Oh. Really?” asked Gavin.

“Yes.”

“Uh…how long have you been awake?” asked Michael. He had a sneaking suspicion that it had been quite some time ago.

“Eh, about, oh, I don’t know, when you guys first started arguing about my foot? Yelling has this magical effect of instantly waking me up.” He blinked slowly. The whites of his eyes were completely pink, and the bottom lids were colored dark purple. “If I help you, will you fuckers stop arguing and let me sleep?”

“Probably,” said Michael.

“Probably not,” Ray said at the same time. Ryan glared at him. “Man, nobody’s going for the jokes these days.”

“Maybe you’re just not funny anymore,” said Michael.

“Or maybe Ryan just doesn’t think you’re funny, X-Ray,” Gavin suggested.

Ryan ignored the three lads completely. He gripped the couch cushions tightly with both hands and pushed his foot into the bowl of water. His breath hissed between his teeth and he grimaced. “Good _God_ that hurts.”

The conversation between Ray, Michael and Gavin quickly petered out after this, and they spent a good few minutes shifting awkwardly and staring at the floor. Eventually, Ryan’s tense posture relaxed, and he sagged back into the couch. “Uh…is there…anything else we can do?” Michael asked.

Ryan looked at him. “Just give me the first aid kit. I’ll take care of myself.”

“Fuck that! Gavin and I didn’t spend ten fucking minutes looking at gross pictures of fucking blisters for…for… _this!_ ” said Ray.

The corner of Ryan’s mouth twitched. “Ten minutes? That’s, uh, quite the investment you have there.”

“You didn’t see the fucking pictures, asshole. Both of us nearly lost our fucking lunches.” The werewolf crossed his arms and glared sullenly at the scientist.

“Ryan, we want to help,” said Gavin.

He bit his lip and looked away. “I…it’s really no problem, I can take care of it myself.”

“Dude, just cause you’ve been alone for three years doesn’t mean you have to be a dick to people trying to help you,” said Michael. “Fucking sit down, shut up and let us do something.”

“I’m already sitting down,” Ryan said. Nonetheless, he smiled slightly and sat up a little straighter. “Okay. Fine. Do your worst.”

“Woah, Ryan, we’re just bandaging your foot. Don’t make it weird, man.” Michael grinned and reopened the first aid kit. “Okay, what’s first?”

“Get some ointment, gauze and bandages. Also, wash your hands and get some fucking gloves.”

“No need to _swear,_ Ryan.” He put his hand over his heart and widened his eyes. “You’ll…you’ll hurt my poor feelings.” He made a show of sniffling and wiping his eyes.

Ryan laughed once. “Yeah…sure. Your oh-so-delicate feelings are _obviously_ wounded beyond _repair_ by that one F-bomb.”

“You know me.” He cracked his knuckles and peered into the depths of the box. “Okay, Dr. Jones is in the house! First, we need the ointment.”

“I’m on it!” Gavin immediately dived for the kit and pawed through it eagerly. “Holy crap, there’s so much in here!”

“Gotta be ready, man,” said Ray.

“Uh, I’ve got three different kinds here, Mi – I mean, Dr. Jones,” said Gavin. “Which one is best?”

“Give ‘em here, Dr. Free.”

“Oh God,” said Ryan, “please tell me you’re not playing doctor.”

“Ignore the patient, Dr. Free,” said Michael, “he’s being a whiny bitch.” He took the three ointment tubes and read their labels.

“Okay, I changed my mind. Please just give them to me.”

“Ryan, we’re trying to help you, man. Shut the fuck up.”

Ray walked over to Ryan and leaned against the arm of the couch. “Don’t worry. I won’t let ‘em hurt you or anything.”

“That…doesn’t really make me feel better.”

“Sucks to be you, then.”

“Okay,” said Michael, “ _this_ one can be put on burns. Now we need to get the gauze and bandages.”

“This… _really_ isn’t necessary. I _can_ take care of myself.”

“C’mon, man, you’ve been passing out whenever we leave you alone for, like, five seconds. Fucking accept our help, asshole.”

“Okay, got the bandages.” Gavin lifted a roll of white bandages and a package of gauze out of the box and proffered them proudly. “Now what?”

“Now we smear that shit all over Ry-Bread’s foot.”

“Why did you have to say it like that?” Ryan groaned loudly and threw an arm over his face.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I have _never_ heard someone bitch about being helped as much as you do. Okay, Dr. Free, let’s go wash our hands, and then we’ll fucking smear away.”

“Oh – smear it,” said Gavin.

“If you assholes are playing doctor, can I sue you for malpractice?” asked Ryan.

“Nurse, please shut the patient up. C’mon, Gav, let’s go.” He stood up, grabbed the collar of Gavin’s shirt and dragged him into the bathroom. They both washed their hands thoroughly and quickly returned to the living room.

To their immense displeasure, Ryan had already doctored his foot and was wrapping it with gauze and bandages. “Ryan, what the fuck?”

“What do you mean, what the fuck? I’m just taking care of myself. Why the fuck does this bother you so much?”

“Because we’re fucking _bored!_ ” Everyone stared at Michael like he had grown an extra head, so he crossed his arms and clarified. “I’ve been doing _nothing_ but sitting in this damn tiny apartment for three fucking days with my thumbs up my ass! Forgive me if I want to…fucking…I don’t know, joke around or some shit.”

“Wha – joke – what the fuck do you mean?! I nearly fucking _died!_ ”

“But you _didn’t!_ ”

“Michael, he, uh, does kinda have a point,” said Ray.

“Oh, not you too! It was _fun!_ I was trying to be _funny!_ Everything’s been all gloomy and shit for _days!_ I’m just trying to lighten the fucking _mood!_ What part of _funny_ do you assholes not get?!”

“Maybe the fact that I’m hurt has something to do with it,” said Ryan.

“C’mon, Michael, you can be funny some other time,” said Gavin. Michael glared at him. “I mean, _I_ was having fun, but…I dunno.”

“Funny’s just…not what we need right now,” said Ray. “No offense.”

That, combined with three days of not finding any leads or doing anything noteworthy, snapped Michael’s already frayed and weary temper. “You know what? _Fine!_ I don’t give a shit about _any_ of you motherfuckers! Suck each other off for all I care – I’m fucking _out_ of here!” He spun on his heel, snatched a jacket up from the arm of the couch, and, ignoring the shouts from everyone in the room, stormed out of the apartment and into the evening light.

His anger lasted for about fifteen minutes of walking, but without anything to direct the anger at, it quickly faded away. _‘I just wanted to have some fucking fun,’_ he thought bitterly, _‘fuck Ryan and his fucking…just fuck him.’_ Although he supposed that mildly serious injuries were not really appropriate joking material. Not that he’d know; ever since he’d been resurrected mild injuries affected him about as much as a bucket full of water did.

The second reason he had decided to play “doctor”, if he was completely honest with himself, was that he wanted a distraction from his endless research. It had been going nowhere and covered everything he already knew. His memories, rather than tamping his anger towards his unknown murderer and his stolen life, had fueled them immensely, and the fact that his investigation was dead in the water made him chafe even more. Any distraction was welcome, so when Ryan showed up on his doorstep, he was all too willing to nurse the fucker back to help.

Walking was nice, though. Walking cleared his head and allowed him to focus on his surroundings rather than his thoughts. The further Michael got from the apartment complex, the more he thought about where he was going rather than what he had been doing. He mulled over the idea of going back to the bar and drowning his stress in poison. That would be something different, at the very least.

Then he got another idea. A horribly stupid, yet thrilling idea.

The bar was close to where he had been killed. Maybe, just maybe, if he actually _saw_ the place where he died, Michael might find some sort of lead.

Maybe…he could find his _killer._

A thrill of energy zipped down his spine, and the undead stood straighter. His eyes widened, and if he had been alive, he knew his heart would have pounded in his chest.

_‘Fuck sitting around. I’m **done** sitting around.’_

He broke into a trot, then a jog, and then into a full on sprint.

_‘It’s time to **hunt** , motherfuckers.’_


	28. Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And into the fire.

The streets of Austin had been completely transformed. Orange and black tinsel twined around every streetlight, little skull and bat lights framed every window, and jack-o-lanterns grinned from doorsteps, balconies and windowsills. Halloween fervor filled the air, thick and sweet like melted caramel.

It all flowed and parted around Michael, who ignored it in pursuit of his new goal. He kept his head down and his hands in his pockets while he walked down the quiet evening streets. If anyone saw his face…well, he supposed he could pass his eyes and pallor off as a costume, but he would _not_ be able to explain why this costume made him look like a recently deceased YouTuber.

Three hours after leaving Ray’s apartment, Michael found himself on 6th street. If his memory served him correctly, his body had been found on the corner of 6th and Comal…and he was on 6th street now…so he guessed he should keep going until he found Comal. _‘No use going back now.’_

However, as he walked down the street, a large, colorful blob lying on the opposing sidewalk caught his eye. He crossed at the next intersection and made his way back toward it. The blob turned out to be a large amount of flowers; roses, lilies, chrysanthemums and several Michael couldn’t name lay on the clean pavement in varying states of wilting. Burned out tealight candles surrounded the flowers, though he spied a couple that had been lit fairly recently. A piece of paper lying on top of a bunch of yellow roses was the next thing to catch his attention, so he reached out and picked it up. The text was handwritten in swirly cursive, which took Michael several seconds to decipher, but when he did, his still heart dropped into his stomach.

_We’ll miss you, Michael. <3_

He looked around at several of the other papers and posters surrounding the flowers. Most of them echoed the sentiment, and many had pictures of him covered in glittery hearts or various pieces of scripture. Then this was…this was… _‘This is where I died,’_ he finally realized. _‘These must be from my...my fans, then.’_

The undead let the paper fall from his grasp and stood. He turned away from the memorial and looked up at the name of the intersection he had crossed. It was Comal Street. _‘Shit, and I wasn’t even looking for the fucker. Well, since I’m here…time to investigate, motherfuckers.’_

Michael started with the alleyway beside the little memorial. The bloodstains had long since been scrubbed away, but the memories lingered, and the sight of the real place gave them strength. It took every ounce of determination he had not to be overwhelmed, but he managed it and continued down the alleyway. It was much cleaner than he remembered, but he supposed a dead body being murdered in it would result in a fairly thorough cleaning. Unfortunately, this also meant that any clues that might be of use to him had already been taken away. He grumbled wordlessly under his breath and moved on.

The back alley was cramped and eerily silent. Michael’s breathing was obnoxiously loud in his ears, and for a moment he wished he was still under the delusion that his heart hadn’t stopped beating. There weren’t even any rats or bugs or cats to provide some sort of life to the desolate way. It was like he had stepped into a ghost town. _‘C’mon, there has to be **something** here…don’t make this a waste of my fucking time…’_

A sudden movement made all the hairs on his body stand on end; he dived behind one of the bordering buildings and held his breath. A figure appeared at the opposite end of the alley, and a thrill gripped Michael’s dead heart. They reached for their belt, and a light flared into sudden life. It sparkled off the badge on the man’s chest and the gun at his belt. Disappointment quickly stamped out the spark of hope, and Michael hung his head. _‘It’s a fucking cop. Of course it’s a fucking cop. Why wouldn’t it be? Why should things go easy for me **now,** am I right?’_

Then something else occurred to Michael. If a cop was in this particular alleyway, he was probably investigating Michael’s death. And Michael was here, where he had died. Right within spitting distance of a cop who had probably seen his dead body… _‘Fuck my stupid fat asshole.’_

Without thinking, Michael spun on his heel and sprinted down the connecting alley. It only dawned on him that this might not have been the best course of action when his footfalls rang loudly off the surrounding walls. He cursed under his breath and pushed himself even faster.

“Hey – you! Stop!” The distant shout made Michael’s dead heart leap and a queasy feeling settle in his stomach. _‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’_ He looked around for another escape route, but none presented itself. _‘Just fucking shoot me. Just fucking kill me.’_ He shivered slightly at the thought, and kept running.

“Stop in the name of the law!” The shout was fainter now, but Michael did not slow his frantic pace. He had no doubt that he would be locked up for the rest of his days – so, indefinitely, he supposed – for being some freakish medical miracle…or maybe just for identity theft. Although, if there was a bright side to this situation, maybe he would be able to see Lindsay again if he was arrested. On the other hand, he was not entirely sure becoming a test subject or prison bitch was worth it. Scratch that, he was _absolutely_ sure it was not worth it.

It took him nearly ten minutes of non-stop sprinting, but he finally managed to shake the cop. Michael slowed his frantic pace and checked out his new surroundings. He was definitely not in the nice part of Austin anymore. Most of the buildings were rundown and covered with graffiti of varying ages. _‘Fuck me…I am so fucking lost…this just gets better and better, doesn’t it?’_ With nothing better to do and no idea where he currently was, Michael stuck his hands in his pockets and traipsed down one of the dilapidated streets.

After several minutes of walking, he came across a man in a dark grey hoodie. He leaned against a nearby streetlight and watched the sidewalk and road with purple-ringed eyes. As soon as Michael came into view he straightened and put his hands in the hoodie pockets. When Michael approached the streetlight he nimbly stepped into his path. Several attempts to pass him were met with the guy moving to block him again. After ten seconds of this Michael had enough and said, “Can you get the fuck out of my way?”

“Sorry. I was just wondering what a guy like you’s doing out on a night like this. It’s almost Halloween. You should be out partying.” He smiled and pulled something out of his pocket. “If you want, I can help you get the party started.”

Michael had no interest in buying drugs – hell, he wasn’t even sure if they’d work for him – but he was interested in the guy himself now. Drug dealers tended to get around town; maybe this guy had seen something. “Yeah, maybe I _would_ like that,” he said. He turned and looked the hood in the eyes. “What’ve you got?”

“Plenty.” He dug around in his hoodie pocket and pulled out a dozen more baggies. “It’ll cost you, though.”

Michael bent over and pretended to examine the dealer’s wares. “Yeah, well, I don’t see anything I _really_ want here,” he drawled.

“Shit, you retarded or something? This is the _best_ shit here.”

Michael stepped forward. He was now solidly in the guy’s personal space. “So, tell me something. D’you sell your shit _all_ over Austin, or just down here?”

The wares were immediately tucked back into the pocket, and the dealer glared suspiciously at him. “Why’re you asking? You a cop or something?” He took a step back, hands still in his pockets. “I don’t deal with narks.”

“Nah, I’m just a guy looking for some fucking answers.” Michael struck at that moment. He lunged forward, grabbed the man by the hoodie, and shoved him up against the wall. “Where were you on the morning of October 1st?”

“How the fuck should I know?”

Michael detached one of his hands and curled it into a fist. “Oh, you don’t know?” He punched the wall immediately beside the hood’s nose. His fist went through the siding and cement like paper and left behind a large dent. The dealer’s eyes widened. “That fucking refresh your memory?”

“Hey, screw you, man!” One of the hood’s hands darted out of his pocket and hit Michael in the stomach. At the same time he squirmed in Michael’s grip. He scowled and punched the goon in the face. He shrieked loudly and clutched at his nose. Blood gushed from between his fingers and dripped onto his hood. “My dose! My dose! You brog my fugging dose!”

“Yeah, well you…” Michael looked down and saw the hilt and blade of a knife poking out of his stomach. “Shit, you serious? Man, I was _borrowing_ this shirt. Ray’ll fucking _kill_ me.” He grabbed the handle and yanked the blade out of his stomach. It was nearly seven inches long and stained almost completely black with blood. “Motherfucker.” He grabbed the end of the blade with his free hand and broke the knife over his knee. It snapped easily and he tossed the pieces into a nearby garbage can. Meanwhile the hood watched him with wide, terrified eyes. His mouth had dropped open. “So…” Michael grabbed the hood and easily threw him up against the wall. This time he hoisted him until his feet were six inches off the ground. “Wanna try that again?”

“Waid, _waid!_ I remember now! I was at a fugging party over at Lage Travis!”

“Yeah? Can you _prove_ it?”

“The fug d’you want me to prove it? I can’t fugging do that!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Here, just _tage_ it, just _tage_ it! Leabe me _alone!_ ”

“I mean, it’s not gonna _stop_ me, but sure, I’ll take your money.” He snagged the dealer’s money and tucked it into his back pocket. The dealer let out an angry yell and lashed out at Michael’s face. His fingers snagged the undead’s hood and pushed it off his face. “You shithead!” He punched the dealer again and was rewarded by the sound of crunching bone.

“What…the fug…is wrong with your fugging _face?!_ ” he screeched. “Waid…waid a secod…you’re that guy! The one that died!”

“Great. You know me. _Now_ can you tell me what I need to know?”

The hood gibbered incomprehensibly for a solid minute. His feet pedaled uselessly against the wall and his fingers scrabbled at Michael’s icy forearms. Blood continue to spill out of his nostrils, and an ugly purplish-black bruise flared across his sunken cheekbone. “I…I had nothing to do with it!” he finally wailed. “I _told_ you, I was ad Lage Travis!”

“I don’t give a shit about that. Tell me who _might_ have had something to do with it.”

Tears welled in the hood’s eyes and ran down his battered face. “I don’t know! I don’t work that part of Austin!”

“Then tell me who _does!_ ”

“I don’t know! But…but my bosses do! They’re in the warehouse district! You can’t miss it! Now please lemme go!”

“You’d better be right, asshole.” Michael dropped the hood and stepped back. “You know _exactly_ where, or-”

“By the airport! It’s by the airport!” He took several steps away from Michael. “That’s all I know about it! Now _please!_ ”

Michael thought about it for a second before waving his hand dismissively. “Get the fuck outta here you piece of shit.” Without further ado the dealer sprinted into the night, leaving Michael alone with his thoughts.

 _‘Probably should’ve asked where the warehouse district was…fucking idiot.’_ He grumbled to himself for a few seconds and set off down the street. When he put his hands in his hoodie pockets he discovered something wet and sticky. Then he remembered that the dealer had stabbed him in the stomach, and when he looked down he saw a large black stain on his hoodie and pants. It was significantly larger than he thought it had been. _‘Fuck my ass. What a fucking trainwreck.’_ Still, he had a lead, so he kept walking.

By the time he managed to stop going in circles and get some form of directions, several hours had passed, and what few pedestrians had been out and about before had disappeared completely. Occasionally several stragglers headed for garages, but other than that, Michael was alone. That was fine. He preferred being alone nowadays. It was a lot less difficult to hide from the world at large when he was alone. All the same, he kept his hood low and folded his arms over the giant black bloodstain on the front of his hoodie.

Michael soon discovered that the “warehouse district” did not have much in the way of warehouses. There were several bars, long since closed, a small park, and several office buildings, but no warehouses. Belatedly he realized he probably should have pressed for more details. _‘Too fucking late for that.’_

Eventually, the undead came across a small, half constructed office building with giant **NO TRESPASSING** signs posted on the perimeter’s chain link fence. With nothing better to do and few options left to take, Michael decided to fuck the sign and enter the building. The gate was barred with a simple chain lock. It took Michael only a moment to snap the chain and push the gate open. Silent machinery and abandoned tool sets greeted him when he entered the compound, but there was no sign of any sort of illegal doings. He quickly abandoned the outside and entered the building proper.

It was chilly in the half-constructed lower floor. The skeletal upper structure towered high overhead; occasionally Michael heard the wind whistle mournfully through the barren rebar and I-beams. Several sheets of plastic sectioned off the various areas of unfinished building and scattered lumber lay all over the floor and on the various and sundry sawhorses. _‘This feels like a fucking dead end,’_ he thought with a scowl. _‘Whatever. I’ll keep looking.’_

Eventually, he found an area devoid of wood and tools. The emptiness sent shivers down the undead’s spine, but he proceeded onward. A pile of spent cigarettes lay at the foot of one of the I-beams. Michael wondered if they were a lead, or if the construction workers were smokers. Either way they did not help him at all. He grumbled beneath his breath and skirted the edges of the room anyway. There was still nothing there.

A sudden gust of wind blew through the empty building. Quite a few sheets of plastic rippled loudly, and a loud moaning howl sounded from the naked I-beams and rebar on the upper levels. Michael decided he had had quite enough of this stupid place, so he turned back toward the exit. Then he froze stiff.

Geoff stood in the middle of the empty room. His arms were folded over his chest and his flame had an orangey-yellow tint to it. He glowered disapprovingly at the undead when he stopped in his tracks.

“There you are, dickhead. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for your sorry ass?!”

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know. Two, maybe three days? However long I’ve been gone?” He looked around with a scowl. “I thought there were supposed to be fucking gangsters or drug dealers here or some shit.”

Geoff stared at him for a long moment. His mouth had dropped open, his arms fell limply to his sides, and his flame dimmed the tiniest bit. “…Are you fucking _kidding_ me, Michael? You’re seriously traipsing around Austin looking for _drug dealers?!_ ” He appeared to recover from his incredulity; he shook his head and scowled. “Do you _honestly_ think drug dealers just…just…fucking hang out and have pow-wows in fucking _construction_ sites of all places? This isn’t Hollywood!”

“I know, but…” Michael scrabbled for some excuse or explanation, but all he came up with was, “…some guy told me there were drug dealers in the warehouse district.” He hung his head and stared guiltily at his feet. For a moment he felt like a kid trying to explain why he had broken his mother’s favorite vase or something.

Geoff snorted. “And it didn’t occur to you that he, oh, I don’t know, might have _lied_ to you?”

“But…but he said his fucking bosses were here in the warehouse district! I fucking _hardcore_ interrogated the bastard, too! No _way_ he’d lie to me!”

“Michael, knowing this place, you probably found some twenty-something college dweeb who gets weed off a friend of a friend and who was fucking scared off his tits when a fucking _dead man_ threatened him for information.”

“No way, dude, this guy was _loaded._ ”

“He could have been lying about _that,_ too. Drug dealers like to lie.”

“What, you mean like you?”

Geoff’s eye twitched, but he remained calm. “Well, I would _definitely_ be lying if I said no. Rule number one of demons – we fucking lie all the time. It’s, like, in our DNA or some shit.” He sighed deeply. “Would you believe me if I said I did it to keep your ungrateful ass safe?”

“Yeah, cause _that_ worked out so fucking well for me.” Michael’s hands curled into fists. “Why would you need to keep me safe anyway? I’m _dead_! And as far as I’m aware, I can’t be killed again.”

“I’m not trying to keep you physically safe, I’m keeping you mentally safe! Trust me, it’s better that you remain ignorant.” Geoff lifted his hand, and a flame flickered at the end of his claws.

“Sorry about this, buddy.” He flicked his fingers, and the flame zipped through the air and hit him between the eyes. The spell washed over Michael like a wave of warm water. He blinked several times to clear the slight fuzzy feeling from his head, but other than that, he was fine. _‘Holy shit, thank fucking Christ I snagged that thing from Ry-Bread, or I’d be back at square fucking one right now.’_

Geoff blinked dumbly when Michael remained unaffected. “What? What happened?! What – what did – I – _what happened?!_ ”

Michael grinned. “Like I’m gonna fucking tell you.”

The flame between Geoff’s horns swelled and consumed the twin points. Sparks flickered at Geoff’s fingertips and glimmered at the base of his tail. His red eyes glowed like hot coals and steam leaked from between his teeth. “You…motherfucking… _cunt._ ”

“Well, that’s just _rude,_ Geoff!” He rocked back on his heels and stuck his hands in his pockets. “You don’t speak ill of the dead, man!”

“I do when he’s being a smart-mouthed cocksucker!” The demon snarled and shifted slightly. The sparks swirling around his fists ignited into blue-white tongues of flame. “You make it _so_ fucking difficult sometimes, you know?”

Then he charged.

Michael somehow managed to dodge the demon’s attack and sprinted for some sort of cover. The flapping bits of plastic were already warping due to the heat, and he was not skinny enough to hide behind an exposed I-beam, so he shifted tactics and scanned for weapons. A sizeable pile of iron rebar quickly caught his eye. _‘Oh **hell** yes.’_ He grinned wildly, grabbed one of the bars, and spun around just in time to see a giant ball of fire hurtling toward him.

Had he still been alive, that would have been the moment where Michael shit his pants and died of a heart attack. As it was, he only barely managed to escape being fried to a crisp. He somehow executed a near perfect dodge roll and felt the heat of the fireball sear his back as it whipped past him and out of sight. The moment he was back on his feet he swung his rebar like a fucking madman. A low thrumming accompanied the constant back and forth motion of the weapon. For the briefest second Michael saw Geoff appear in front of him, and then the thrumming rebar had collided with Geoff’s cheek. The shock sent horrible tremors down both of Michael’s arms, but he held fast. His rebar, however, juddered and bent to an unusable degree.

In the meantime, Geoff had staggered away and was rubbing at his cheek. “ _Wow_ that hurt. Jesus _Christ_ you’ve got an arm on you.” He shot a glare in Michael’s direction. Suddenly the bent rebar heated to fucking supernova hot, and Michael dropped it with a yelp of pain. The metal hit the ground and almost immediately melted into an oblong puddle of orange-yellow goo. “You little _bitch._ ”

“C’mon, it doesn’t even looks like it _hurt,_ Geoff.”

“It hurts my _feelings,_ Michael.” A baseball-sized ball of fire formed in Geoff’s outstretched hand, and he lobbed it over in Michael’s direction. He dodged it easily and ran back toward the rebar pile. “Come back here and fight like a fucking _man_ , you pussy!”

“Yeah, well stop using fucking _fire_ and I might consider it!”

“You _know_ I _can’t_ tell you anything, right? Believe me, if I _could,_ I’d do it in a heartbeat!” Another fireball took a chunk out of the I-beam immediately next to Michael’s left ear. The undead swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and grabbed another bit of rebar. “But I _can’t!_ ”

“At least explain why you _can’t_ explain, asshat! Then _maybe_ I might calm my tits or something!” He charged forth, but this time Geoff was ready for him. Michael slammed into an invisible wall and flew backwards. His new rebar clattered to the ground and immediately melted. “Mother _fucker!_ ”

“Michael, don’t make me do this.” Geoff put his hands in his pockets and gazed sadly down at him. “I’d _really_ prefer to end this peacefully, but if you’re gonna struggle and be a prick, we can do it the hard way.”

“Fuck you,” Michael spat back.

“Well, I fucking tried. Can’t blame me for that.” Just like that, flames erupted into life all around them. It licked up the support struts and streaked across the floor. The plastic sheets melted almost immediately and the I-beams had a slight reddish tint to them.

Panic welled in Michael’s chest. He scrambled to his feet and looked around, but all his escape routes went up in smoke. His breath came in pants and the smoke already made his eyes water. Without bothering to look at Geoff he sprinted off in a random direction, trying to find something, _anything_ that could lead out of this hell, but everywhere he looked, there was fire.

“Geoff, what the _fuck,_ man?! I’m gonna fucking _burn_ to death! _WHY_ WOULD YOU DO THIS _?!”_

The demon appeared to his immediate left. His arms were crossed, and he gave Michael a forlorn look. “I’ll put the fire out if you fucking let me wipe your memories.”

“Suck a cock!”

He shrugged and vanished into nothingness. “You _motherfucker!_ ” Michael’s scream was met only with the roar of supernatural flame. He felt an awful pressure building in his chest; had he been alive, his heart would be pounding a mile a minute right about now. He coughed and rubbed at his stinging eyes. _‘Shit…I…I have to get out of here.’_

In the meantime, the fire grew hotter and wilder. The metal support struts above Michael’s head groaned loudly, and the surrounding steel beams glowed bright red. The undead darted to and fro like a frightened animal, searching vainly for an escape route. His options appeared to be nonexistence, and he knew Geoff lurked somewhere on the sidelines. Either he was waiting for Michael to surrender, or he was just sitting back to watch him burn to death. Hopefully it was the former and not the latter.

Just when the undead was ready to surrender and let himself burn to death, a new voice called to him through the flames and ash. “Michael! Michael boi, are you there?”

A tinge of annoyance pierced the veil of panic and resignation currently clouding Michael’s mind. “Gavin?! What the _fuck_ are you doing here?!”

“Oh! You _are_ here, Michael! I’m coming, boi, don’t worry!”

He turned to face the direction the voice was coming from and screamed, “Get the fuck outta here, asshole! You’re gonna fucking burn to death!”

His warning went unheeded. There was a small waft of cold air, a black gap in the flames, and then Gavin stumbled toward him. The other undead wore what looked like a modified fireman’s outfit and a welding mask. He lifted the inch-wide black visor up to properly view Michael. His mismatched eyes wrinkled at the edges. “ _Here_ you are, Michael. Now let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

Michael stormed forward and shoved Gavin away from him. “What the _fuck_ are you doing here?! Get the fuck away you stupid bitch!”

Gavin squawked loudly in indignation. “What? No! I’m here to help you, Michael! We _all_ are!”

“Why the fuck do you care? We _barely_ know each other!”

“You’re like _me,_ Michael! _I’m_ undead too, you know!”

“It’s not the same!”

“Not _exactly,_ but we’re close enough! What am I supposed to do if you burn to death, Michael?”

“Fuck off and save yourself, asshole! What the hell can you do anyway?”

“ _That’s the thing!_ ” The sewn-together undead’s shriek startled Michael, which allowed Gavin to grab his hand and pull him away. “I’m bloody sick and tired of being so _fucking_ useless, Michael. Everyone else can do all these awesome things, and I’m always on the effing sidelines worrying about _stitches_ , and I’m _not_ having it anymore! Not when the closest thing I’ve got to a friend is in danger.”

It took Michael several minutes to process this. His mouth worked for a moment before he finally spoke. “Uh…well…um…thanks, Gavin. Now we die together, I guess. Again.”

“Don’t worry, Michael. We’ve got a plan.” He tugged on Michael’s hand and directed him toward the back.

“Unless this ‘plan’ involves a fire truck or a _lot_ of rain, I don’t see us getting out of this. We’re _so_ fucked, Gavin!”

“C’mon, Michael! Don’t give up yet!” Gavin took a deep breath, coughed a little due to the smoke, and yelled, “Ryan? Ryan! I got him!”

“What?” The distant sound of Ryan’s voice caused the singed hair on the back of Michael’s neck to stand on end. Somehow he hadn’t realized what Gavin meant by ‘we’ and ‘our’. “I can’t hear you!”

“I’VE BLOODY GOT MICHAEL, YOU DEAF BASTARD!”

“Oh! Okay! Get the hell out of there, then!”

“IT’S ALL FLAMEY, RYAN! USE YOUR BLOODY…THING!”

“I’m on it! Don’t worry!”

“Oh, you _son_ of a _bitch!_ ” Geoff suddenly appeared in a swirl of blue-white flames, and boy did he look _mad_. “When will you butt the fuck out of my shit, Ryan?!”

“When you actually start _giving_ a shit!” the scientist yelled back.

That was probably the worst thing Ryan could have said at that moment. Smoke poured out of the demon’s ears and mouth, and blue fire consumed every inch of his body. “Oh, you are just _asking_ for it, motherfucker!” He sped toward the exit in a massive rush of demonic fire. All the flames around them swelled larger and burned hotter, fueled by the demon’s rage.

“Shit.” Michael stopped and took stock of the situation. The groaning from the upper levels was constant now, and the fires were everywhere Michael looked. A loud creaking sounded from above, and several beams snapped around them and plummeted to the ground. Gavin tried to pull him away, but Michael stood fast. “I…don’t think we’re making it out of here, Gavin.”

“We will, Michael. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not a question of _worrying,_ Gavin. It’s more that we’re fucking _stuck_ in a burning building, and I don’t think either of us will come back if we burn to death.”

“We’ll make it, Michael.” The sewn-together undead tugged him forward, and he gradually sped up as he approached the exit. “Keep behind me, Michael!”

“How can I?! You’re like an inch wide!”

“Just _do_ it!”

They broke into a sprint. The fires closed in around them. Michael felt the heat sear his face, and panic threatened to overwhelm him yet again. A burst of cold air blew from in front of them, and the flames retreated somewhat. “That’s it, Michael, we’re almost there! Just-hold- _on!_ ”

Michael squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end. He shoved Gavin forward, and together they toppled into the night. Both of them hit the ground hard and rolled onto their backs. It took Michael a minute to realize he wasn’t dead, and he cracked an eye open.

An inferno raged in front of him. The building’s skeleton was barely visible through the monstrous orangey-blue flames. He sat upright and blinked dumbly. Somehow, against all odds, he and Gavin had managed to escape. _‘Holy fucking shit…how did we manage that? We fucking suck at…we fucking suck!’_

“Oh, thank _God_ you’re all right!” Michael jumped and whirled around. Jack crouched behind him. His concerned look had slipped a bit when Michael started, but he managed to smile and offered Michael a hand. “You, uh, _are_ all right, right?”

“Yeah…it’s just…you _scared_ me, Jack. Jesus.” Michael accepted the swamp monster’s hand, and he was pulled to his feet and gently dusted off.

“Sorry about that.”

Michael looked around again and saw Gavin collapsed in a heap several feet further down the sidewalk. “Uh…should we, uh, help Gavin out, or…?”

“He needs a few minutes to recover. Unlike you, I think he can’t go that long without oxygen.”

“Well, all right then.” They sat in silence for about a minute before Michael asked, “So, how’d you guys find me, anyway? I didn’t exactly tell anyone where the fuck I was going.”

“Well Ryan, Gavin and Ray started following you about fifteen minutes after you left, and I met with them when they arrived downtown. Geoff and I were at the bar when he got this… _look_ …in his eyes, and he just said, ‘Motherfucking stupid asshole,’ and left. We figured you guys were around here somewhere, and then we saw the fire, and the rest is history.”

He nodded slowly. It was hard for him to believe that everyone had come after him like that. He probably would not have been so kind had he been in one of the other’s shoes. They didn’t really even _know_ him; hell, _he_ didn’t really know _them_ , either. Maybe it was just because they knew all the stories and legends they’d decided were fake long ago were true, and things _did_ go bump in the night. _‘I guess when there aren’t a lot of fuckers who understand what you’re going through…makes the ones who do a fuckton more valuable.’_ He snorted and shook his head. _‘Yeah right.’_

A sudden pounding of feet caught their attention, and Michael turned just in time to see a figure tear through the flames and fling itself onto the ground. It took him a moment to realize that it was Ryan; the stupid flames were really fucking with his night vision. It didn’t help that he was sporting his ghoulish gas mask and goggle combo, either.

Upon seeing Michael standing in front of him, he stopped trying to dust the ash off his coat. “Oh. I, uh, didn’t realize you…you were already out here. Huh.”

“You mean you ran in there to try and get us out?” Michael asked.

“Uh…” The scientist rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the ground. “…Yes?”

“You idiot!” Jack scolded. “I fucking _told_ you they’d make it out on their own! Even if you _hadn’t_ given Gavin that suit thing, there’s no way Geoff would kill them like that.”

“You can’t know that!” said Ryan.

“I _do_ know that! I’ve been friends with him for _centuries!_ ”

“Oh my God, shut the fuck up!” They both looked over at Michael in surprise. “Who gives a shit? Nobody got hurt or died, and Geoff can throw his fucking tantrum until he fucking passes out for all I care. So shut the hell up.” He walked over to Gavin and helped him to his feet. The sewn-together undead groaned and pulled the welding mask off. His hair stuck up every which way, and the regular half of his face was bright pink. “You okay, Gav?”

“I’m all right.” He looked around expectantly. “Where the hell’s Ray?”

Now that he mentioned it, Michael realized he hadn’t seen hide or hair of Ray. He turned toward Ryan and raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, where _is_ Ray?”

“I think…he might have gotten lost on the way here. I _swear_ when we got out of the car he was right behind me.”

“Goddammit, Ryan, did you _seriously_ lose him?! You are fucking _awful_ at this!”

“Wha-I’m still fucking _new_ to this shit! I’ve never _had_ to look after three asshole monsters before!”

“You look after monsters all the time!”

“Not like this!”

“Oh my fucking God, I said _stop already!_ Jesus Christ you two are giving me a fucking headache!”

At that very moment, another set of footsteps sounded from behind them. The missing werewolf sprinted into view and stopped next to Michael. He hunched over, hands on his knees, and caught his breath. “Holy…fucking…shit…you guys are fast. Anyway…Ray’s here.”

“Seriously? You were _right_ behind us! How did you fall behind?”

“I…try to avoid running…at all costs.”

Ryan sighed. “So you didn’t get lost. You’re just lazy.”

“Yep.”

“Well, at least you’re here now.”

“Yeah. I brought the party.”

“Sure you did.”

“Okay, well, if we’re all fine, we should head out. There’s no telling how pissed off Geoff’s gonna be after this.” Jack started toward the dark street and gestured for everyone to follow him.

“I think the fucking burning building is pretty telling.”

“Can we all just shut up and go home?”

“Seriously? I missed _everything?_ Shit, I should have just stayed in the fucking car. At least then I wouldn’t be so fucking tired.” Ray sulked quietly and hunched in between Michael and Gavin. “Fuck me.”

“We appreciate the support, Ray.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

They had just begun to move away from the burning building when the upper levels fully and totally collapsed. The metal screamed horribly, and a gust of burning hot air slammed into the little group. A huge ball of fire tore itself from the wreckage and slammed into the pavement behind them. As they stared at it, a figure slowly appeared amidst the flames.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Jack whispered.

The flames abated somewhat to reveal Geoff’s furious form. He glared at them, and fire spilled from his hands and onto the ground. “You _motherfucker._ ” A ball of flame slowly swelled in between his outstretched hands. Unlike any of his previous flames, this fireball was purest white, with something small and silver dancing at its center. It grew to the size of a basketball, and Geoff lifted it over his head. “Suck my demonic cock, you son of a fucking _bitch._ ” Then he stepped back and threw the fireball at them as hard as he could.

Somehow it was like time had slowed down and sped up at the same time. Michael saw the fireball moving toward them, and felt both Ryan and Jack pull him backwards. They were trying to protect him. After all the shit he’d done, they were trying to _protect_ him.

 _‘Not this time, assholes.’_ Michael shoved back against them, and felt the scientist and swamp monster stumble away from him. At the same time, he spread his arms wide and closed his eyes. _‘Why the fuck am I doing this aga-’_

The massive fireball hit Michael square in the chest. In an instant his entire body went up in flames. Heat spread over every inch of skin; the awful stench of burning clothes, hair and flesh reached his nose, and the panic threatened to overwhelm him. Unfamiliar memories danced on the edge of his consciousness; the combined pressure of this and the panic of being on fire finally broke him. Michael howled loudly and collapsed. He was in complete and utter _agony._ And his _head_ …the _memories_ …it was too much.

So he let go, and drifted into darkness.


	29. Aftershock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out, and the group starts a new chapter of their lives.

When he first woke, he was in darkness. All around him voices mumbled quietly, far too quietly for him to make anything out. His eyes refused to open even the slightest inch, and he could not feel his arms or legs. He was far, far too exhausted to care about his indistinct surroundings; the very cells of his being throbbed in painful unison. He spent only a moment in this state, and then he let himself float back into the void.

* * *

His second waking was caused by a muted voice in his ear. It took him a moment to shake the darkness, and even then he still felt like he was half in a dream. The floating sensation had not left, and was certainly not helping him feel more awake. This time he was able to squint his eyes open the tiniest amount, not that that helped either. All he saw was blurry blue and warped pinky-white. He grunted softly and closed his eyes again, ready to go back to sleep.

Then the voice spoke again. “Michael? Can you hear me?” It was tinny and buzzed annoyingly in his left ear; he turned his head slightly in a vain attempt to ignore or dislodge it. “I’ll take that as a yes. I…don’t think your vocal cords have, uh, recovered just yet, so…well…just listen for now.”

He supposed he did not really have a choice in the matter, so he stopped moving and let the voice continue. “We’re back in my lab. Turns out the fire didn’t make it down here, so most of my shit is still intact. I…haven’t managed to find out where Edgar went, but…I, uh, _have_ been otherwise occupied.” There was a pause, and he briefly considered trying to go back to sleep. “It’s…just you and me…right now. Nobody’s seen Geoff since… _then_ …or Ray, for that matter…and Jack ‘n’ Gavin are looking for them, so…it’s just us holding down the fort here. I… _hope_ you aren’t too upset about that. I…I know I don’t…I know you guys think…”

The voice stopped for a much longer moment then. “I _will_ say this. Whatever ill may come of this, it _has_ been a great opportunity to, uh, see your, uh, healing ability. When we first arrived you’d lost…well…nearly, uh, sixty percent of your body mass, and your arms and legs were _gone._ Completely fucked up. Now it is _much_ slower than what I’ve seen of your regular healing abilities, but…so far you’ve regrown a good chunk of your muscle…and your arms and legs are growing back…so maybe…in a couple of days…you’ll be fine. Even so…I built you a…kind of…tube. I’ve got every antibiotic and healing gel I had in stock pumping through it. I don’t really _know_ if you can get infections, but…better safe than sorry, right?” A short pause. “When…when your nerves start growing back…I’ll add some painkillers to the mix. Hopefully they’ll help, otherwise it’s gonna be a fucking _awful_ week for you.”

He groaned softly. The voice stopped talking for a long time. “I’ll leave you alone for now. Try to sleep, okay? You, uh, _do_ heal faster when you sleep, you know. Okay. I’ll, uh, go do…work…or something.”

The voice stopped speaking after that, and moments later, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 What was once a dull throbbing flared into intense burning pain as time went by. It became impossible to sleep; every inch of his body throbbed, burned, _screamed_. He wanted to throw his head back and howl at the top of his lungs, but he was still unable to move or speak. Vaguely he remembered something about painkillers, but if they were present, they were certainly not helping him.

Through the intense wave of hurt and the frenzied panic attacks he realized he was wearing some sort of mask. He supposed that was how he was breathing normally amidst the healing glop. That was about as deep as his thinking got during that time. The rest was pain, pure and simple.

Eventually he got used to the pain, and he entered some sort of limbo between pain-filled wakefulness and dark, blissful sleep. Fragments of conversations whispered in his ear, but he could not make out the words. Not that he particularly cared. He was in far too much pain for that.

* * *

 He drifted quietly in that same limbo when the buzzing returned to his ear. “Michael? You there?”

This time his eyes opened fully, though his vision was still warped by glass and bluish liquid. He blinked several times, but it did nothing to help him see any better. The mask still covered his mouth, so he couldn’t speak, not that anyone would have been able to hear him anyway. At the very least the pain had lessened to an annoying itch deep in his bone and muscle.

“You’re, uh, recovering a lot faster than I expected. Considering you were burned…yeah, I thought it would take _way_ longer. But you have legs at least. And arms. That’s, uh, definitely an improvement over…yeah.”

He grunted and shut his eyes again. It seemed the voice didn’t take the hint and fuck off, though, for it continued to buzz in his ear. “There’s…still been no sign of Geoff, though Jack reminded me that, well, you know, he _is_ a demon, so if he didn’t want to be found…well, let’s just say we’re not gonna find him anytime soon.” It paused for a few seconds. “We… _did…_ find Ray though. Man…that moonstone…not, uh, it’s not really….well…” The voice trailed off. “He wasn’t happy to see us. Not in the least. I’ll leave it at that.”

Another pause. He waited to see if the voice would start again, and to his immense displeasure, it did. “I’m…sorry about earlier. I guess…I guess the painkillers didn’t help much, huh? Then again…they’re not really designed for undead, demonically risen…whatever the fuck you are. Not to mention I’m _fairly_ certain they aren’t meant to be used during…tissue and nerve growth…but still. I tried, right?”

A deep sigh. “Yeah, you’re…probably tired of hearing my stupid voice. I’m sorry about that, too. There’s just…it’s too fucking _quiet_ right now.” Another pause. “Sorry. I’ll, uh, leave…leave you to it. I guess.”

Finally silence descended, sweet and wonderfully peaceful. Without the dreaded buzzing in his ear, he was able to drift away. First he returned to limbo, and then he reentered that most beautiful darkness of slumber.

* * *

 Slowly but surely the memories returned to him. It started with a foggy event from what felt like a lifetime ago: the blurry face of his newlywed wife as he slid the ring that would bind them together forever onto her finger. He remembered crying, remembered fighting back tears of pure joy. He had thought his life was on the up and up and would only get better from there.

Along with the happy memory of his wedding came the unfortunate tide of his death and miserable unlife and memories of anger and loneliness. Some of his previous life floated in the background, but the majority was from his awful second “life”. He remembered rising from his grave with no memory and meeting the demon who had royally fucked his life into pieces, being dumped onto the doorstep of a mad scientist with a halfway decent soft side, befriending his sewn-together undead creation, finding his old friend who somehow had been a werewolf for two years, and meeting the sweetest swamp monster on the face of the fucking planet.

Four asshole monsters and one weird-ass human had become more or less his entire world after his death. They were the only ones like him in the city, and the only ones who understood his plight. At the same time, they were some of the most insufferable assholes he had ever known. At the very least, they were better than nothing.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt restless. The itching had faded some time ago only to be replaced by a bone-deep yearning to move. He squirmed in place, and was surprised to realize that he was no longer floating. He now lay on something hard and warm, and his limbs moved freely through his confined space. His face was still masked, and he could feel things attached to his chest and stomach, but the change was something, at least.

The yearning grew to be too much for him to handle. Michael grumbled and opened his eyes a tiny bit. The light blinded him, so he squeezed them tightly closed again. After a few moments, he tried again. This time the light was not too unbearable for him to handle, and he was able to make out the curved glass ceiling of his prison, and beyond that...

He squinted to try and see past the glare on the glass. It took him a few seconds to focus – his vision was somewhat dim for some reason – but he finally made out the shiny ceramic and steel ceiling of Ryan’s lab. _‘What…what the fuck? I thought this place burned down.’_ When he turned his head to see more of the lab, he found he couldn’t move his head. His face was still masked, and a rush of air tickled his nose and threatened to make him sneeze. An attempt to lift his arms was met with several tugs from several different directions. Deep within the hazy fog still clouding his mind a spark of panic threatened to take hold of him. “Fuck…what the fuck?”

“Michael?” He looked around for the source of the voice, but of course he saw nothing but sparkling ceiling. “Don’t move, okay? I’m coming.”

“The fuck is going on?” He wriggled in place, and this time he felt something bite into the skin just above his elbows, knees and ankles. Further wiggling did nothing to free him, but it did send flashes of burning pain up and down his arms and legs. A shadow then blocked out most of the sparkling ceiling from his view. He started, wriggled a little more, and jerked over to look at it. It took him far too long to focus, but eventually he made out who it was.

Ryan stood over his weird glass coffin. In retrospect, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; if anyone was going to stick him in a glass prison, it would be Ryan. After another few seconds of focusing, Michael realized the scientist looked like utter dogshit. In addition to the wounds he had already sustained earlier, there were heavy bags under his eyes, his bottom lip had been split and a large purple bruise occupied most of his left cheek. He looked down at Michael and frowned.

“Stop moving! You’ll fuck everything up.” Something clicked near Michael’s ear, and a fine mist sprayed out from the metal ends of the coffin. “You, uh, took a _lot_ of damage from that…fire…and you aren’t…quite…healed yet. I mean, you _are_ mostly healed, but your skin, uh…you’re not looking too pretty.”

“But…but…how the fuck did I get back here? And how the fuck did your lab survive that giant fucking fire?” Michael wriggled again, but the restraints still didn’t give. “And why the fuck am I tied to your weird fucking bondage table?!”

“Those are all very, _very_ long stories,” said Ryan. “Well…except for the table thing. I just didn’t want you to break out and fuck yourself up again. Like I said, you’re still not fully healed.” He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “It’s…been a very long week.”

“A week? I’ve been out for a fucking _week?!_ ”

“More like a week and a half…” Michael tried to express his horror at this, but all the words he wanted to say ended up a tangled mess that came out as a garbled exclamation. “You’re lucky it only took _that_ long. With burns that severe…you were fucking _dead._ And I know, you’re dead already, but seriously. You have _no_ idea how bad it was. How bad it _still_ is.”

The undead processed this slowly. He thought back to that last fight, and how suddenly the attack that ended it had come. “How did this happen? I had that fucking…paper…thing. I was immune, right?”

“It’s hard to say, considering it burned to a crisp when you did, but if I had to guess, I’d say falling on your ass a couple dozen times probably wasn’t good for it. Awesome as it might have been, it was still paper. Paper isn’t exactly the _strongest_ material in the world.”

“Fuck, I hadn’t thought of that.” Michael was quiet for a moment. Ryan had just started turning away when he spoke again. “Still, why did I burn? I thought Geoff was trying to wipe my memory, not fucking _kill_ me.”

For a long moment, Ryan did not answer. He stared at something Michael could not see, and every so often his jaw would move slightly, like he was about to speak. Finally, after a minute of deliberation, he said, “….Maybe…that spell…wasn’t meant for you.” His voice was so quiet Michael almost didn’t hear what he said, but he did, and he was immediately incredulous.

“What?”

“C’mon, Michael, you had to _move_ to get in front of the damn thing! Why would you think it was meant for you?”

“It could’ve been,” he grumbled.

“Geoff has a lot of talents, but predicting the future is not one of them. Trust me, he had _no_ fucking clue you were going to do that. He nearly had a heart attack when you went up.”

“Why?”

“Michael, do you honestly think his, uh, ‘employers’ downstairs would appreciate him killing you like that? The contract hadn’t been broken in any way, so there was no reason to attack or kill you. They might be hell-fiends, but they do have _some_ standards.” He adjusted his glasses and tapped on the side of the tube. “Besides, he was mad, but he wasn’t _nearly_ mad enough to kill you.”

Michael finally stopped pulling at his restraints and sagged into the tube’s bedding. He let his eyes fall shut with a sigh. “He’s still a fucking asshole.”

“Trust me, I don’t think anyone will dispute that.” Ryan hit one more thing, and a new shower of mist sprayed from every direction. “I’ll leave you to it then. Yell if you need anything.”

“Oh, I will.”

Ryan laughed, and then he moved away, and Michael was alone. He pondered over what he had learned so far, but decided that he was too tired for serious thought, so he let himself drift into semi-consciousness. His last thought before he fell asleep was of the scientist, and what had happened for him to look so tired and beat up.

* * *

 “Michael? Hey, wake up, dude.”

The undead grumbled and tried to roll over, but the restraints held him firmly in place. He cracked an eye open and glared up at the source of the noise. “What the fuck is it? I’m trying to sleep, motherfucker.”

His words immediately died when he saw Geoff standing over his imprisoned and very much helpless form. He let out a strangled yelp and pulled twice as hard at his restraints. It was no good; either the restraints were expertly crafted to hold undead…whatevers, or he was still too weak to break them.

“Hey, take it easy! I come in peace.”

“Fuck that! Last time I saw you, you tried to fucking _kill_ me!”

The demon’s shoulders sagged, and his flame dimmed from the already dull blue-black to lightless purple. “I know what it looked like, but I…I didn’t mean to do that. I wasn’t…” He trailed off. “Look, I got pissed off, and let myself get carried away. That was a mistake, and I’m…I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “Honest to God, I never meant to hit you. I fucked up, and now everyone hates me, and my bosses nearly nailed my goddamn hide to the wall when they found out, not to mention the fact that I nearly-” He stopped himself, and his eyes went wide. Then, somehow, he deflated even more. “Fuck it. Bosses said it didn’t matter anyway.”

“What? What doesn’t matter?”

Geoff ignored him and continued. “While my bosses were skinning me alive, we went over your paperwork over and over again, and…well…” He scratched at the base of his left horn. “I…you…it wasn’t necessary…strictly speaking…to wipe your memories.”

Michael blinked several times, and for a moment it felt as though his guts had turned to stone. “What.”

“I mean, I _knew_ going in that it wasn’t necessary, but I thought…I just…I wanted to make it easier for you, cause if you knew…Fuck!” He put his head in his hands. “I fucking suck at this sentimental bullshit.”

“You fucks keep fucking saying that stupid ass…thing! ‘If I only knew’ _this,_ ‘I don’t want you to know’ _that…_ I’m fucking sick and tired of it!” He pulled at the restraints, but they still didn’t give, so he settled for glaring at Geoff instead. “What the fuck aren’t you telling me? What the fuck are you _hiding?_ ”

The demon sighed again and rubbed at his eyes. “I’m gonna tell you, hold your fucking horses. I just…I feel shitty. About everything.”

“You fucking _better._ ”

“I do!” He let his hands fall onto the glass covering Michael’s prison. “So…what do you want to know, then? You remember pretty much everything, right?” Michael only snarled and strained at his bindings. “I figured as much.” He looked up at something Michael could not see, and his eyes appeared to cloud over. “All this shit started a coupl’a days after you were shot. I’m, uh, _downstairs,_ y’know, doing what I do, and then I, uh, get a call saying someone wants to make a deal. And....it was…your, uh…your wi-I mean, your widow.”

“Lindsay?”

“Yeah. She was fucking… _empty_ when I saw her, dude. Just…drained. I introduced myself like I always do, and we kinda talked about what happened for a bit, and then we made our deal.” Geoff’s claws tapped out a nervous rhythm on the glass. “I agreed to bring you back to life, and in return she…she..well…” The nervous tapping of his fingers grew even faster and louder. “She sold her soul for it, which means she’ll be going downstairs when all this shit’s over, and…she agreed to…she agreed that….”

“Just fucking spit it out!”

“Turns out her soul wasn’t enough, so…she had to promise that…you…would never see each other again. You guys so much as lock eyes, you go back to being dead and she goes straight to Hell.” The demon stared straight at a spot on the wall. His flame was almost pitch black now. “I wiped your memory so you wouldn’t have to deal with it. Okay? Are you fucking happy now? Is this what you wanted to hear?”

Michael did not answer. A strange, tinny white noise sounded in his ears, and a horrible heavy feeling clamped down on his insides. Unbidden, the image of his wife danced across his mind’s eye. He’d only just remembered her, he had been fighting to remember her all this time, finding her had been his _main_ motivation for _so_ long…and now…now he could never see her again. _‘It…it was all fucking **pointless**? Then…’_

“Michael?” He twitched and stared up at Geoff. The demon stared down at him, and the pity in his eyes made Michael want to puke. “You, uh, wanna talk about it?”

His jaw worked for a moment, but no words came to the undead’s mind at the moment. Finally, he managed to whisper, “But…fucking… _why?_ ”

“She wanted you back, dude. Nothing else mattered except that.”

“But it doesn’t fucking _matter_ if we can never see each other again! What’s the fucking _point?!_ And why the hell did I come back like…like… _this?!_ ” He wriggled in place and glanced down at his bound body. What stood out to him at that moment was the patchwork appearance of his skin; some chunks were pink and blistered, while the rest was giant black scab-like aberrations. His stomach turned, and he suddenly felt light-headed, but he managed to table the nausea for the moment. “Why did I come back as an undead…fucking…whatever?!”

“That’s demon deals for you. We _never_ give _anyone_ exactly what they want. I’m fairly certain we’d fucking explode if we did.” Geoff chuckled slightly at his own joke. His claws finally stopped tapping on this glass, for which Michael was glad. “Though she, uh, _did_ say she never wanted anything to happen to you again, so I guess I _did_ deliver.”

“But that doesn’t explain-”

“Let me finish!” The demon’s flame suddenly sparked into brilliant blue-white life, and Michael quieted. The memory of being burned alive nearly consumed him whole, but he fought to stay focused on Geoff. “She decided she’d rather have you alive and well and never be able to see you again than to see your dead-ass six feet under whenever the fuck she wanted. Knowing that somewhere your bitch-ass is screaming at someone keeps her going, even if she can’t ever see you again.”

Michael finally turned away from Geoff and stared up at the ceiling. His mind buzzed with too many feelings for him to comprehend all at once. Out of the mire came one burning question. “So this is why you wiped my memories?”

“Yeah, sort of. I really did think I’d get in trouble if I didn’t, but yeah. I just…you were going to have enough shit as it was. I’m a demon, but I’m not a fucking _sadist_.” There was a long pause. “I can…uh…if you want, I can wipe your memory again.”

“Are you serious? Are you fucking _serious?_ After all I’ve been through, you seriously think I’d want to fucking lose it all _again?!_ ”

“All right, all right! I’m sorry! I was just trying to be nice!” The demon sighed loudly. “Not that I’ve done great at that before.” There was another long pause. “I’ve, uh, you probably need some time to process, huh? I’ll leave you be for the moment.” Michael’s skin tingled, and when he turned his head, the demon had vanished.

* * *

 By the time Michael was ready to be let out of the tube, he had long since stopped trying to escape. Ever since Geoff had told him the truth about Lindsay and his resurrection, after his anger had subsided, a terrible apathy took its place. Ryan attempted to raise his spirits, but was met with disinterested silence every time, and so he fell silent. In hindsight, Michael supposed any sort of conversation would have been better than being left alone with his thoughts, but he didn’t care enough to try and start talking.

Now he noisily tapped away at a screen Michael could not see. All around him the tube whirred and hissed, and the glass slowly inched open. The sterile air of the lab flooded the slightly less sterile tube, and a slight breeze tickled the stubble atop Michael’s head. When the glass had fully retracted, Ryan reached in and undid Michael’s restraints one by one.

“Okay, there we go. You’re free to go,” Ryan said after he’d finished.

Michael sat up slowly and looked around. The lab looked just as pristine and chaotic as it had before the fire had broken out. Every test tube was in place and the Jacob’s ladder machine quietly hummed in the corner. “Did you ever explain how the fuck this place survived the fire?”

“Huh? Oh, right, _that._ Well, Geoff felt really, _really_ bad about…well, everything.”

“Good.”

“So, in addition to fixing this place up, he, uh, made some improvements.”

“Like?”

“It’s bigger now, and a lot less shitty. It looks more or less the same on the outside, but the inside’s great.”

“Cool.” Michael walked over to one of the tables and prodded at a pile of metal and wires. “What about Edgar?”

Ryan scowled at that. “Thanks to you, the fucker nearly made it into town before I managed to catch him, plus he did _not_ go down easily. If I had been just a _little_ bit slower, or wasn’t fully prepared to take him out…” He flopped down into his desk chair and rubbed at his hairline. “I would have lost _everything._ ”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?”

The scientist sighed. “I know, you were trying to save him. I’m not… _mad,_ I’m just…I don’t know.”

Silence filled the air yet again, and Michael would have been fine with that, except for something that had been bothering him for a while now. He cleared his throat and asked, “So…what was that fireball shit supposed to do if Geoff wasn’t trying to kill me?”

Ryan didn’t answer him. He turned and stared directly into Michael’s eyes, and Michael was just about to change the subject when he said, “It was meant to break our contract.”

A thrill of surprise briefly pierced Michael’s apathy. “What?”

“He was aiming for _me,_ Michael. He was _pissed_ that I was trying to help you keep your memories. Claimed it broke my contract or some shit, so he was going to…annul it, I guess.”

“But…wouldn’t that mean…everyone would remember you?”

“Yes, and more importantly, what I did.” He took off his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Needless to say, even if you didn’t know what you were doing, it was…very noble of you…to take that for me. I really _would_ have lost everything if you didn’t. So…thank you. Even if you didn’t mean it.”

“Um…no problem.” Michael turned toward the stairs, but one last thought held him back. “So who else is here, anyway?”

“Far as I know, everyone is. Geoff might be out doing God knows what, but everyone else should be here.”

“Even Ray?”

“Yeah.” Ryan rubbed at his left arm and turned back toward his monitors. “He was…not pleased when you burned up.”

“Huh.” A brief pause. “Well, it’s been fun, but I’ve had enough of this fucking lab. See you later.” Without waiting for a reply, the undead turned tail and went upstairs.

The kitchen Michael entered shortly thereafter was completely unlike the one Ryan had before. It had nearly tripled in size and shone in the light. The new island bristled with sparkling appliances, and when he opened the fridge to investigate, it was full to bursting with food, with not a single eyeball in sight. Michael snorted and shut the door.

Whatever magic had changed the kitchen had drastically improved the living room as well. The walls were sturdy and painted a lovely shade of mint green, not that he could see them well due to the shelves bursting with games and movies now lining both sides of the TV. The coffee table was free of papers and garbage and a plush couch sat against the opposite wall. It was all stunning and new and might have surprised him if he had given a damn about any of it.

Michael tried his best to find something to do, but he couldn’t find it in him to commit to any one activity. He started about ten different video games, got about five minutes into each and then turned the Xbox off. He put on an episode of _Game of Thrones_ and sat back, but was so thoroughly uninterested he spaced out and missed every single minute of it. Eventually he turned and stared out of one of the windows.

Later in the evening, Ray and Gavin thundered into the living room and declared they were going to play _Mario Party._ Both of them tried to rope Michael into playing with them, and both fixed him with concerned stares when he declined. They both asked the question that would quickly become the bane of his apparently eternal life: “Are you okay?” Both times (and every time afterward) he said “Yeah, I’m fine,” and didn’t care if they believed him or not.

Eventually Jack and Geoff showed up too, and Ray and Gavin stopped their game to talk to them. The murmur of conversation flowed over him like water, muted and distant. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the others started looking at him every nine seconds and muttering conspiratorially to each other. At one point, they raised their voices and directed something at him, but whatever it was, he missed it.

Michael definitely didn’t miss it when someone grabbed his arm and hauled him from his seat. His protests were ignored and he was dragged through the steel door and pulled downstairs. Ryan continued to ignore him all the way through the lab right up until they reached the Hole, where he gave a noncommittal “Hm,” and shoved him through the door. The herding only stopped when they reached the edge of Edgar’s pit. The grate had been retracted, and a shovel and pitchfork rested atop a pile of hay at the bottom of the ladder. Ryan looked down at the minotaur and wrapped his arm around Michael’s shoulders.

“You’re going to go down there and muck out Edgar’s pit,” he said, perfectly nonchalantly.

Michael blinked dumbly. “What the fuck-”

“No questions, and you’re not coming out until it’s done.” With that, Ryan shoved him into the Hole. Michael yelled for about two seconds before falling face down on the floor. Thankfully he didn’t break any of his bones or land on a turd or a pitchfork or an Edgar, but for the first time in quite some time he felt a flicker of irritation.

“Ryan, what the hell, man?” Michael rolled over and looked up at the edge of the hole. Ryan was long gone, and the grate was slowly trundling back into place. “You motherfucking… _cunt_.” He grumbled, lifted the shovel, and got to work.

It took him two hours to finish mucking out the Hole, and true to his word, when Michael finished, the grate slid back and Michael was allowed to exit. He stormed out of the door and opened his mouth to yell when a bucket of stinking meat hit him square in the chest and knocked the wind out of him.

“Mind feeding the other animals for me?” Ryan asked.

“Do I have a fucking choice?”

“Nope, but it’s polite to ask, right?” Ryan grinned and shoved him back into the Hole. As soon as he was through the door it slammed closed. Several whirrs emitted from the door and Michael heard the heavy thud of bolts sliding into place and locking him in. He snarled under his breath, scooped up a handful of meat and tossed it into the nearest occupied cage.

Things continued in this manner for two days. Ryan forced Michael to do busywork around his lab from dusk until dawn, while he himself sat around drinking Diet Coke and eating snacks, only pausing to direct Michael toward another meaningless task. It was pissing Michael off like nothing else had.

His feeble patience failed when Ryan oh-so-calmly asked him to take stock of the storage room again, but alphabetically instead of numerically. At that, Michael snapped. “What the fuck is your problem, asshole?! Why the hell am I suddenly your fucking slave, huh?” He seized a glass tube and chucked it at Ryan. It whipped past his left ear, hit the wall and smashed into powder. Ryan calmly stared at Michael and took a sip of Diet Coke. His lack of reaction only fueled his rage. “I’m sick of this shit! I’m sick of _you_ bossing me around, I’m sick of _everyone_ talking about me behind my back like I’m some sort of fucking idiot, and I’m fucking _sick_ and _tired_ of being stuck in this stupid fucking house!” He seized the edge of the nearest table and upended it. It flipped through the air and clanged to the ground several feet from where Michael stood. Every piece of machinery on the table flew every which way, with most of the pieces smashing to the floor at Ryan’s feet. The scientist merely took another sip from his beverage. The undead surged forward, grabbed the lapels of Ryan’s coat and hauled him to his feet. He raised an eyebrow at this. “None of you motherfuckers know what I’m going through! I’ve fucking lost _everything,_ and I can _never_ get it back! I can’t ever see Lindsay again! Do you even _know_ how that _feels?!_ ”

At long last, Ryan reacted. His brows lowered and he scowled. Michael’s anger subsided bit by bit when Ryan glared at him. His normally placid blue eyes burned with positively murderous rage. They were eyes that promised a slow, tortuous end for anyone who crossed their path. Though Michael was undead and likely immortal, he found himself releasing Ryan’s coat and stepping back.

“Do I even know how that feels?” Ryan repeated. His voice had deepened considerably, he spoke slowly, and every syllable dripped with menace. “Do I even _know_ how that _feels?_ Do _I_ even _know_ how that _feels?!”_ He stepped forward. Anger added to his height, broadened his shoulders and turned his face into one that would frighten even the bravest man in the world. Michael knew he was strong enough to overpower the human scientist, but he knew Ryan had more tricks up his sleeve, and besides, he wasn’t about to test Ryan now. His retreat thus continued. “How about I tell you a story, Michael?”

“That’s, uh, okay, I don’t really need a story,” Michael mumbled. He tore his gaze away from those burning eyes and shuffled backwards.

“Don’t you _dare_ walk away from this!” Suddenly he was facing Ryan again, and his face was locked in place by the firm hand on his jaw. “Do you seriously have the _balls_ to think _you’re_ the only one who’s here because they lost everything? After what I told you?!”

 _‘Oh…oh motherfucker. Oh fucking cunty asshole. I…shit. I’m so fucked, I’m so fucked.’_ Michael swallowed, and felt his throat pulse against Ryan’s ring and middle fingers. “Ryan, man, seriously, I’m so-”

“Oh, it is _far_ too late for _that,_ my dear Michael. You _wanted_ this, _didn’t_ you?” Ryan shoved Michael as hard as he could, and the undead stumbled back several more steps. His legs hit something, and he sat down hard. Ryan stepped back and stared down at him. “You’ve _begged_ me to tell you why I live in a miserable fucking hole in the middle of nowhere all by myself, right? Did you think I was just crazy?”

“Ryan, I know you-”

“No. _You’re_ the one who doesn’t know anything.” Ryan towered over him, positively thunderous now. His hands curled tightly into fists. “You’re so wrapped up in your own fucking misery…you’ve never even _considered_ that you’re not alone, haven’t you? _Haven’t you?!_ ” One of Ryan’s fists flew out and hit a box atop one of the tables. It fell to the ground and spilled innumerable yellow papers over the floor. Several of them fluttered close enough for Michael to read their headlines.

_‘BREAKING NEWS: MODERN DAY FRANKENSTEIN CREATES MANMADE HELL FOR TERMINAL SUBJECTS! Did a lack of oversight cause Dr. Haywood to go too far?’_

_‘MAD SCIENTIST TRIES TO PLAY GOD!’_

_‘THE HORRIFYING CASE OF DR. HAYWOOD AND HIS SEARCH FOR ETERNAL LIFE.’_

Michael stared at the papers incredulously. “What…what the fuck? Are these…”

“The last remaining evidence of what I did,” said Ryan. “Geoff was _just_ enough of an asshole to let me keep them. Nice, right?”

Michael plucked one of the papers up and mouthed the phrase ‘search for eternal life’. “Ryan…what the fucking hell did you _do?!_ ”

“Isn’t it obvious? I fell into the same cesspit every scientist and doctor eventually finds themselves in.” Ryan spread his arms wide and looked up at the ceiling. “‘Can I find a way for mankind to live forever?’ Everyone has their own ideas and everyone has failed but _I,_ no _I_ thought I could _do_ it! I had a _new_ idea that I _knew_ was going to work!” Ryan began to pace and gesticulate wildly. The anger had faded slightly, but the obsessed light that replaced it was just as terrifying. “You see, the brain and all the nerves connected to it essentially use electricity to communicate with the body, right? So I hypothespi-hypostula- _hypothesized_ that the soul was just another form of electricity…and if it was, it could be extracted and stored somewhere else. It could be as easy as backing up files on an external hard drive. No matter what happened to the hardware, the software could be preserved and downloaded onto another computer.”

Michael couldn’t help but smile just a little bit. “You wouldn’t download a soul.”

Ryan stopped dead in his tracks. Seconds later he had closed the small gap between them and was staring directly into Michael’s eyes. “Oh, but I _would,_ ” he said. “And I _did._ ”

“You…you did what?”

Ryan shrugged and resumed pacing. “Test subjects were easy to come by. People’ll sign up for anything if you tell them it cures cancer.”

“Ryan, oh my fucking God, that’s…that’s messed up.”

“There were thirty in the initial group. All had some form of terminal illness or another. All were desperate to survive.” He was moving faster, gesturing faster, occasionally combing his fingers through his hair. Michael half expected him to start foaming at the mouth. “Ten of them didn’t make it past the, uh, the ‘downloading’ process, if you could even call it that. But that’s to be expected right? Omelets and eggs and shit. I didn’t care, because the other twenty…the other twenty…it _worked._ Their bodies died, but their _souls…_ stored safely away.”

A long silence followed that last word. Michael shifted awkwardly in his seat and asked, “So…what’s the catch?”

Ryan turned toward him. “The catch? The _catch?!_ The catch is that I was fucking _dumb_!” He kicked out at the box of papers and sent it flying. “I didn’t plan anything past the initial phase. I had twenty souls locked in boxes and nowhere to put them. Getting them out was easy. Finding a new body for them was so. Fucking. _Hard._ There’s no _legal_ way to get healthy young bodies here, and the illegal ways were only good if I needed _one_ body, not twenty. Then my superiors started getting angry calls from the families of my test subjects, demanding to know where the fuck everyone was and why they hadn’t heard from them. They weren’t exactly happy either ‘cause I hadn’t published any sort of results and it had been _months…_ ” As quickly as it had come, Ryan’s energy was fading. He stopped beside his chair and sat down. A lock of hair fell down in front of his eyes, and he slowly pushed it back into place. “Families hounding from one end, my bosses at the other, and nothing but problems in between…I’m surprised I got away with it as long as I did.”

“What problems?”

Ryan didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low and quiet. “Imagine waking up in sheer nothingness. You can’t hear, see, smell, touch or taste. Nothing. Nothing at all. You’re just…just…thoughts in an empty void.” He took off his glasses and stared at them. “Every single test subject experienced that when I took them out of their bodies. Can you imagine what that would do to a person?” He laughed once without humor and put his glasses back on. “Imagine twenty people slowly going insane from severe isolation and lack of sensation.”

Michael pushed himself back into the chair. An awful clammy feeling settled over him, and he was sure his heart would be hammering like crazy if it was still beating. “ _Jesus,_ Ryan.”

The scientist didn’t answer. “I…didn’t discover this until…I had an idea. I thought if I could plug one of ‘em into a computer I might be able to communicate with them.”

“Did it work?”

“Well…yes and no. I got a response, but…if I remember correctly, it was just ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ ad infinitum. I guess it was their coping mechanism, but when it didn’t work, they just kept repeating it over and over again.” His face contorted as if he were in pain and he smacked his forehead with his hands. “God I’m stupid.”

Michael did his best to process this, but was having a great deal of trouble. Eventually he asked, “Obviously you were caught. How the fuck did it happen?”

Ryan laughed again. “Another stupid mistake. I donated their bodies to science one by one in different states. I thought for _sure_ I wouldn’t be caught if I did that, plus their bodies would further the human cause! Win-win, right?” He faked a grin and did a double thumbs up before slumping back in his chair. “One of the bodies was identified as my test subject and then it was the fucking domino effect. One by one, piece by piece it was unraveled until I had no choice but to come clean about my experiments.” He nudged one of the papers with his toe. “You, uh, you can see how well _that_ went over.”

“Okay. Okay. I, I, I _get_ that you were caught. I _get_ that you did something… _awful._ What I _don’t_ get is why you traded half of your soul to erase yourself. Why not just wish it away completely? Or...or...fucking turn back time?”

“Do you honestly think that would have worked?” Ryan asked. “Putting twenty souls back in their bodies, bringing ten people back to life, and making them believe nothing ever happened is nothing short of a fucking _miracle_. Demons are powerful, but even they can’t perform miracles. And seriously, this is _Geoff_ we’re talking about.” They both laughed a little at that. “And besides…how does that phrase go? ‘All roads lead to Rome’? Well, in this case, my _existence_ is the roads, and what I did would be Rome. As long as people were aware of me, the spell wouldn’t have worked, because every time they looked at me, they would _know_ something was wrong. It would nag and nag and nag at every mind I came across until the spell couldn’t take it anymore and _poof!_ ” Ryan mimed an explosion. “It’s up shit creek without a paddle again.”

Michael sat back and thought about what he’d heard so far. He still had trouble comprehending why the scientist’s reserved nature had suddenly failed so violently. “Why are you telling me this?”

He sighed. “Because, right now, you’re acting like I did three years ago. Like you’re completely alone and nobody can help your sorry ass. Is that _really_ how you’re going to spend the rest of…of…shit, _eternity?_ Sitting around moping is the fucking _worst_ way to squander your second chance at life.”

“How would you know? _You’re_ not immortal.”

“That’s not the point. I guess…what I’m trying to say is…don’t shut the others out, because we _do_ get it. _All_ of us have lost something or other. Fuck, think about _Gavin,_ for Christ’s sake! He’s in the _exact_ same mess you are! Do you honestly think _he_ could go home to his family? Well, he _can’t_. He can’t because at _least_ five different people witnessed him flatlining in the emergency room after his accident. At best, he’d be locked away in some lab, and at worst, he’d be fucking _dead._ ”

Michael honestly hadn’t considered that. His jaw worked as he tried to find a response to that. “And…and whose fault is that, huh? He didn’t _ask_ to be brought back!”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Neither did you.”

“Would you fucking stop that?!”

“Stop what?”

“Stop making me feel like a dumb fucking asshole!”

Ryan’s lips twitched, but other than that he did not respond. “And what about Ray? I bet that nonchalant, fucking…‘cool guy’ attitude is only skin deep. How many times has he told you that he’s fucking _terrified_ of losing control during the full moon and killing someone he loves? “

“Okay, fine, I get it! I’m stupid for getting mad about this shit! Just fuck off already!”

Ryan blinked. “That’s…not…what I’m saying at all.”

“Then what the fuck ARE you saying?!”

He brushed a hand through his hair and stretched. “Look, I’m not trying to shit all over you or anything. Fuck, you _should_ be pissed! _None_ of this is fair! It’s just…it’s just…” Ryan gestured for a few moments before finally finding the right words. “You can be mad, and fucking _should_ be mad, but that _doesn’t_ mean you have to be…y’know… _alone_ when you do it. _That’s_ what I’m trying to say.” He leaned back and met Michael’s gaze. “We’re not fucking psychic, Michael. We _can’t_ understand how you’re feeling because you haven’t fucking _told_ us anything.”

Michael opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again and finally said, “So…uh…so…why the fuck did you make me do all that shit? What was the fucking point?”

“Everyone was talking about how…fucking… _dead_ you looked, but nobody had the balls to do anything about it, and, well, work always… _works…_ for me….so that was how I got your mind off things.”

“You just wanted to be a lazy fuckhead.”

“Sure, but it worked, didn’t it? You eventually bared your soul _and_ I got to have a break for once. We both win!” He smiled and spun to face his monitors. “I, uh, actually _do_ have to do some work, so, uh…y’know…you do you, and I’ll do me.”

The undead threw up his hands and half turned toward the door. Like a few days before, one last question held him back. “Hey, Ryan?”

“Yo.”

“Does…does this shit ever get easier?”

The scientist glanced over his shoulder, and Michael was sure the look on his face would haunt him for the rest of eternity. “You get used to it after a while.”

“But does it get _better?_ ”

Ryan did not answer him.

* * *

 

After that, life proceeded as normal, or as close to normal as it could be, all things considered. Michael’s grand reentry into the world of the living was worthy enough to have a party, according to Geoff and Gavin. Apparently during his ‘down time’, they had started talking more and Geoff had taken the other undead under his wing.

“ _Someone_ has to be looking out for you guys,” he had said.

“Yeah, Geoff, you’re the _best_ man for the job,” Michael had replied.

The demon had winced and grown a little solemn at that. “I’ve been an asshole, I know. But I’m gonna make up for it now. You see this fucking house?” He had gestured to the phenomenal improvements made to the living room. “Was _not_ easy, let me tell you.”

Michael had snorted and gone over to the TV, whereupon he and Jack commenced a twelve-hour marathon of _Game of Thrones_ while Geoff started preparations on his so-called party _._ It was a nice way to distract himself from his shitty-ass life, and much more effective now that his apathy had died down.

Though the apathy had faded, Michael couldn’t say that the conflict which replaced it was any better. He absolutely _loathed_ the idea of being cut off from his old life completely and totally, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure he could go back even though he desperately wanted it. Everyone he had once knew, save Ray, had either seen him die or witnessed his funeral. He was ninety-nine percent sure that if he was even glimpsed by a family member or friend, shit would absolutely hit the fan, and it would all trickle back to his wife. That one fact Geoff had told him curbed any desire to leave like nothing else had, so he supposed Geoff was actually celebrating the fact that he had finally succeeded in getting Michael to sit down and shut up.

In any case, the half-assed party went off with about ten billion different hitches. First off, the ‘booze’ Geoff procured was not potable for any of the non-demons. Michael supposed he would be able to drink it without too much of a problem, but beverages meant for only two-sixths of all party members did not go over well with everyone else. Several grocery trips later, they realized they had no idea what they were going to do for entertainment besides video games, and as Ray so succinctly put it, “We do that anyway.” Eventually, the arguing got to the point where Geoff threw up his hands and let everyone do whatever the hell they wanted while he sulked at the table.

Michael spent the first hour of the “party” sitting on the couch watching reruns of _It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia_ with Jack while Ray and Gavin argued over something stupid. After a couple drinks Geoff descended into the lab and dragged Ryan up to join the group. Even though it was incredibly simple and quiet, the “party” was still a nice change from their normal humdrum existence.

“Aw, Ray, c’mon! Don’t be a pussy!”

“I’m not being a pussy! I don’t fucking _drink,_ Gavin!”

Michael scowled and muted the TV. “The fuck are you guys arguing about _now?_ ”

Gavin looked over at him. His face lit up, and then he was standing right in front of him. “Michael! Michael, I’ll give you…twenty dollars….to chug one of those brown bottles over there.”  
He pointed to the collection of bottles Geoff had brought with him to the party. “And you have to do it in a minute.”

Michael snorted. “Do you even _have_ money, idiot?”

“Yeah!” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I’ve got plenty.”

Michael considered this. “Make it sixty and you’re fucking on.”

“Uh…um well…” Gavin wavered just a little bit. His eyes darted from the bottles to Michael’s face and back again. “Well…if you can’t do it…you have to pay _me…_ a hundred.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Michael stood up and held out his hand. “Deal?”

Gavin hesitated for a moment and then they shook. “Oh, man, you just lost sixty dollars, Gavin,” said Ray.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” Jack asked.

“Gavin and Michael made a bet that Michael couldn’t chug one of his demon drinks,” said Ray.

“Oh, I _have_ to see this.”

Michael walked over to the table and snagged one of the bottles. “Get your fucking timer ready, bitch.”

“Michael, _wait!_ ” Suddenly the demon appeared at his side and snatched the bottle from his grasp. “What the fuck are you doing?” He pulled the bottle to his chest like he was coddling a baby.

“Geoff, what the fuck? You brought these things here to drink, man.”

“You don’t understand! _This_ one is special!” Geoff brought the bottle away from his chest and held it up to the light. “It’s fermented human agony, and it is _so_ fucking hard to get! Shit, it took me nearly fifteen years to get this _one_ bottle!”

There was a beat of silence. Then Jack said, “Michael, I will _also_ give you sixty dollars to drink that.”

“Do _you_ have money?”

“Sure I do.”

Michael considered this, and shrugged. “Fuck it, then.” He grabbed the bottle back from Geoff, popped the top off, put the mouth of the bottle to his lips, and started to chug. Immediately after the viscous liquid touched his tongue it burned like liquid ghost pepper mixed with Death Sauce. His nostrils ran and his eyes watered, but he persevered. His throat and stomach both revolted, but he ignored the feeling, and it quickly went away. After thirty seconds of burning, the last of the liquid passed his lips and went down his throat.

Michael triumphantly slammed the empty bottle onto the table and stood back. “Fuck you! Pay me, bitch!”

Nobody responded. They were all far too busy staring at Michael’s middle. He blinked several times before looking down. A giant hole had appeared in his chest and was currently spreading down to his stomach. His ribcage, spine and pelvis were now exposed to the open air, while his organs withered away. His t-shirt and jeans sizzled and curled away from the area.

Several moments passed where everyone watched Michael’s exposed gut in horrified awe. Then Michael said, “So, uh, do I get the $120 now, or…?”

The following seconds after Michael said this were phenomenally chaotic. Gavin let out a noise between a scream and a retch, and bolted for the bathroom. Ryan’s eyes lit up; he brought out a notepad and pen from his pocket and immediately scribbled something down. Geoff yelled loudly and grabbed the empty bottle. Ray stepped back and said, “Well…” and Jack just watched the craziness unfold with dumbfounded eyes.

Funnily enough, Michael was probably the calmest of the bunch. “Goddammit, these fucking clothes were _brand_ new,” he griped. “You fuckers _better_ pay up, otherwise this will _not_ have been worth it. Fuck, I didn’t even get _drunk_.” He walked back to the couch, sat down and unmuted the TV.

“Yeah, well, getting drunk _kinda_ requires a working stomach, and, um, while, uh, while I would _question_ how well your stomach works normally, right now it appears to be…dissolving,” said Ryan. “I… _don’t_ think…it’ll hurt your seal, but…”

Michael shrugged. “I feel fine.”

“You don’t _look_ fine.”

“Hey, Ryan, if you could do me a solid and get my money from Gavin, that would be great.” He waved the scientist off and refocused on his show. A slight breeze tickled the withered end of his esophagus and made him cough. “Damn, this is _drafty._ ”

Ryan just sighed and went to the bathroom door, where the sound of retching had long since been joined by a wet splatter. “Why did I even _let_ you assholes live here?” he heard Ryan grumble.

Michael laughed and sank back into the couch. While his life was still shitty, with these assholes for company, it was a _little_ bit less shitty. At the very least, he wasn’t nearly as bored as he had been when it was just him and Ryan.

Who the fuck knew, maybe it wasn’t going to get to the point where Michael could say he was okay, but right then, at that very moment, he was okay.

Even if there was a giant hole where his torso should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All that's left of this story is the epilogue, and that will be the end of Too Spooky. It's hard to believe I've gotten here, really. I've dedicated almost two years into this story. It's occupied most of my thoughts and kept me awake at night. Now, with less than two months before its second birthday, it's almost over.
> 
> All I have to say is this: I don't think any of this would have been possible without you, the readers. Every comment, no matter how short, gave me incentive to keep going. Every time a new kudos popped up I pushed myself to write a little more. You guys are amazingly supportive, and that more than anything else encouraged me to keep going.
> 
> Thank you, and I'll see you at the finale. :)
> 
> -vW


	30. Epilogue: Happy Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys enjoy the only day of the year where they can walk around without disguises.

It was the afternoon of October 31st, and the streets were packed with people in costumes. Innumerable werewolves, vampires, mummies and witches laughed and jostled and rushed around, filled to the brim with Halloween fervor. Already there were parties in full swing and a steady train of college students trailed from door to door, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs. The air was practically dripping with the scent of sugar and chocolate and fake fruit.

At this time of day, the sun was low enough in the sky to cast long shadows over the ground. Because of this, Michael was able to walk the Austin streets without needing a hood or umbrella. That, however, was not why Michael was walking around at six forty-five Halloween afternoon along with Geoff, Jack, Ray, Ryan and Gavin. They were all out and about on Halloween afternoon because Halloween was the only day out of three hundred sixty-five where two undead assholes, one werewolf, one demon, one swamp monster and one very weird human could walk around without feeling completely out of place. They still felt a _little_ bit out of place, but at least they were less conspicuous.

A group of boisterous college-aged students pushed past them at that moment. One of them glanced over at the ragtag group of monsters and grinned. “Hey, nice costumes!”

They blinked and looked at each other. Finally Ray managed to say, “Thanks. I worked really hard on it.”

“Yeah? What are you supposed to be? An unemployed asshole?” They laughed at their joked and carried on down the road. Thankfully this meant they missed both Michael and Ray flipping the bird at their backs.

“Dickheads,” said Geoff.

“They’re just mad ‘cause we look awesome as fuck,” said Ray.

“Are you sure? Because…uh…we look…we look _really_ conspicuous.” Ryan looked around and tugged the collar of his lab coat up the tiniest bit. “Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?”

“For the billionth time, Ryan, _nothing_ is going to happen to us!” Jack shook his head and crossed his arms. “This is the safest fucking day for _any_ of us here. Shit, _you’re_ fucking _human!_ If anyone should be paranoid, it’s _us,_ not _you!_ ”

“Ryan the fucking scared guy,” said Ray.

“It’s Halloween, he’s _supposed_ to be scared,” said Michael.

“What are we doing, Geoff?” The sudden shout from Gavin made everyone jump.

The demon hummed and scratched at a horn. “We’re just going to the bar, dude.”

Michael blinked. “We’re…getting drinks?”

“Yeah.”

“Ooh. I could do with a bev.”

“Of all the things we could be doing on Halloween, the _one_ fucking day we can go out and be ‘normal’, we’re getting _drinks_?”

“Uh…” Everyone looked at Ryan. “Also…me ‘n’ Ray…we don’t drink.”

“Glad _someone_ remembered that." Ray held his hand out and gave Ryan a high five. "R and R Connection for life!"

"Um...the what what?" Asked Michael.

"Dude, the R and R Connection. Me'n Ryan." The werewolf gestured to himself and the scientist. "It's cause we both have R names."

"Yeah, Ray, I got that. It's just a stupid fucking name."

"You dissing my team name, man?"

"Don't be dissing the team name," said Ryan.

"Okay, assholes, let's fucking focus, okay?" The demon waved at them and snapped his fingers. "We're ha – do – go – fuck."

There was a pause, and everyone burst out laughing at the mess of words. "What...what...what the fuck was _that?_ " Michael asked.

"And _I'm_ the flubber," said Ryan.

"Dude, you're Robin Williams?" Asked Ray. "Rest in Peace."

"Jesus, Ray, too soon." Michael shook his head.

"How about this - all of you shut up." The demon's flame let off an irritated spark. “Here’s the _new_ plan, since you’re all going to be whiny bitches about everything. We’ll _start_ at the bar, _then_ we’ll see if we can hit up an arcade, and then we’ll go home and gorge ourselves on candy while watching Netflix. Is _that_ a better plan?”

Everyone looked at each other. “Not really, but I’ll take it,” said Michael.

“I guess _someone_ has to drag your sorry drunk asses home,” said Ryan.

“Sure. Whatever,” said Ray.

“Works for me,” said Jack.

“Sounds top,” said Gavin.

“Finally! Jesus. Like herding fucking cats.”

They continued down the street in a little clump. The sun waned a little more with every passing minute, and a band of darkness stretched over the horizon. 6th Street and Comal loomed in front of them, and Michael couldn’t suppress a shudder. Though the flowers and messages had long since eroded or had been removed, but there was no mistaking the alleyway where his first life had ended. Gunshots and blood running in the gutter still haunted his dreams, and probably would for all eternity.

The bright red lights of Six Sixty Six were a welcome distraction from the alleyway. A white sign had been posted in the window, and the group huddled around it curiously.

_Do you love Halloween as much as we do? If you come wearing your best human costume, we’ll give you free drinks* all evening!_

_*Does not include cocktails, potions or Elixir of Life._

"The fuck is a human costume?" Michael asked.

Geoff didn't answer. His wide red-black eyes were fixated on the little notice. Then he immediately shepherded the other five into the bar. "Shut up and stop looking this fucking Godsend of a gift horse in the mouth."

"Are you seriously using us to get free drinks, Geoff?" Jack stared incredulously at the demon. "Seriously, dude?"

"Shut up and get in the bar."

The bartender glanced over at them as soon as they entered. "Geoff, you're not seriously expecting to get free drinks just because you're in your normal clothes, are you?"

"No, but my friends here would like free drinks," said Geoff.

"Enh...most of their costumes look average, at best..." His eyes slid over every member of the group until they got to Ryan. "Although...your costume is pretty great. Human scientist, right?"

Ryan blinked dumbly. "But I actually _am_ a-"

Geoff slapped his hand over his mouth. "Right! He's a scientist! Can we get our free drinks now?"

"Did you read the sign? Only the person wearing the costume gets free drinks. No mooching." The demon's eyes narrowed slightly. "Which reminds me...you still owe one hundred soul coins for the _last_ time you were here."

“C’mon, I’ve already paid you an arm, a leg and a fucking testicle. Shit, I wasn’t even the one who got drunk!”

“ _They_ put it on your tab, Geoffrey.” He gestured to Michael and Gavin. “Next time, maybe _don’t_ fuck up your servant’s binding sigil.”

“I’m not a fucking servant!” said Michael.

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” The bartender huffed out a laugh. “Enough jawing. What’re you having?” His eyes flicked back to Ryan. “We’ll start with you, free drinks man.”

“Uh…do you…d’you have…Diet…Coke?”

Geoff stared at him. “You’re not serious.”

The bartender snorted. “I have literally _anything_ you want. Of _course_ we have that swill.”

“You’re serious. You’re seriously blowing _free_ fucking drinks at one of the most _prestigious_ demon bars on the fucking mortal plane…and you’re getting _Diet Coke?!_ ” Ryan just batted his eyelashes. “You’re dead to me, Haywood.”

“Says the man who drinks explosives,” said Jack.

“Yeah, why is Diet Coke swill when you guys drink…fucking…blood?”

“How about you quit your bitching and order your fucking drinks?”

Geoff and Ryan continued their bickering while the others crowded around the bar and ordered their drinks. Geoff was momentarily distracted from tearing into Ryan’s ass when Ray asked for Malta. Apparently he couldn’t grasp the fact that Ryan and Ray were falling back on their comfort drinks. Or maybe it was the fact that they were falling back on their comfort drinks in a bar where they could get anything.

They got their own table by the window and watched the crowds trample past, unaware of the honest to God monsters sitting mere feet from them. Their drinks floated out to them after a few minutes. Michael and Gavin snickered at how many annoyed sparks spat out of Geoff’s flame when he saw the pint glass of Diet Coke silently glide to Ryan’s place.

“Should we make a toast?” the demon asked.

Everyone started at Geoff for a few moments. “Why?” Ray finally asked.

“Uh…because…because it’s a holiday? Because this is a special occasion? I don’t know.” Geoff leaned back in his chair and traced the rim of his pint mug with a claw. “Because we all have drinks and we’re all sitting at a table and it’s Halloween and we don’t normally do this shit. There. Happy now?”

“Dude, I’ll toast. I’ll toast the _shit_ out of a toast.” Michael lifted his glass into the air. “One question. What the hell are we toasting?”

“Our health?” Jack suggested.

“I’m dead, dude. My health is fucking constant.” Michael flatted his free palm and drew it out in a straight line. “I am _good._ ”

Everyone sat in awkward silence for a moment. “Anyone have any better ideas?” Geoff asked.

“How about this? Here’s to us getting shitfaced, wrecking shit in a fucking arcade, and then buying a shitton of candy and gorging ourselves stupid while playing _Destiny._ ”

A beat passed, and then everyone burst out laughing. “Fuck it. I’ll drink to that,” said Ryan.

“Works for me,” said Jack.

“Besides the first part, you literally just described my life. So I’m good,” said Ray.

“I’ll do it!” said Gavin.

“All right,” said Geoff.

They all lifted their glasses into the air and slammed them together hard enough to send several drops of beer, Diet Coke, Malta, and whatever the fuck Geoff was drinking flying.

“You know what? I’m fucking sick and tired of being a miserable ass. Let’s have some fucking _fun,_ for once. Let’s have the best fucking Halloween six asshole monsters could ever have.”

“Fuck it, I’ll drink to that,” said Geoff. They all laughed and supped from their drinks.

The undead wiped some tears from his eyes and glanced out of the window. His heart jumped when he saw a flash of red hair, but it was gone before he could get a better look. A brief flash of sorrow pierced the happy balloon he’d crafted, but he shook his head and took a deep breath.

He was still not okay. But maybe, just maybe, he could be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. Short and sweet (I hope). Thank you all so much for your support. I never could have done it without y'all. Your support kept me motivated, even when times were kind of tough. 
> 
> Rest assured, I still plan to do some oneshots in this universe from time to time. Also, I have some ideas for some new series, so we'll see where that goes.
> 
> See you around. :D
> 
> -vW


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